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A  History  of  Rice  University 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2010  with  funding  from 

Lyrasis  IVIembers  and  Sloan  Foundation 


http://www.archive.org/details/historyofriceuniOOmein 


A  Rice  University  Studies  Special  Publication 


ri5  -^^, 


l'2i^#&i!?S5S^' 


A      HISTORY      OF 

Rice  University 

The  Institute  Years,  1907- 1963 


FREDERICKA      MEINERS 


Published  in  cooperation  with  the  Rice  University  Historical  Commission 
Rice  University  Studies  •  Houston,  Texas 


©  1982  by  Rice  University 

All  rights  reserved 

Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 

First  Edition,  1982 

All  photographs  are  from  the  collections  of  the 

Woodson  Research  Center,  Fondren  Library, 

Rice  University,  except  the  following: 

Fig.  1.  Houston  Metropolitan  Research  Center, 

Houston  Public  Library 

Requests  for  permission  to  reproduce  material  from  this  work 

should  be  addressed  to 

Rice  University  Studies,  P.  O.  Box  1892, 

Rice  University,  Houston,  Texas  77251. 

Library  of  Congress  Catalog  Card  Number  82-82825 

ISBN  0-89263-250-X 

10  987654321 


To  the  memory  of 

William  Marsh  Rice,  Edgar  Odell  Lovett, 

and  all  the  men  and  women  who 

have  contributed  to  the  building  of 

Rice  University 


CONTENTS 


Illustrations  ix 
Foreword  xi 
Preface  xiii 
Acknowledgments  xvii 

I. THE  OPENING    I 

2.  THE  BEGINNINGS    II 

The  Board  of  Trustees  14 
Defining  the  Rice  Institute  15 
The  Search  for  a  President  16 
Edgar  Odell  Lovett  20 
Structuring  the  Institute  22 
The  Site  and  the 

Physical  Plan  25 
The  First  Buildings  29 
Construction  Begins  42 

3.  THE  FORMATIVE  YEARS  44 

Selecting  the  Faculty  44 
The  Classes  Begin  47 
The  Position  of  Women  49 
Early  Campus  Life  50 
Further  Faculty 

Appointments  56 
Other  Changes  60 


Administration  and 

Curriculum  60 
The  First  Library  64 
Public  Lectures  65 
Early  Achievements  and 

Problems  66 

4.  RICE  AND  THE  GREAT  WAR    JO 

Military  Life  on  Campus  71 
Tape  and  the  Student 

Rebellion  74 
The  Students'  Army  Training 

Corps  81 
The  Campus  Returns  to 

Normal  82 
Public  Reaction  to  Rice 

Professors  83 

5.  CONSOLIDATION: 
THE   1920s    88 

Two  Solutions  to 

Overcrowding  88 
Other  Solutions  92 
The  Institute's  Financial 

Condition  94 


Rice  Faculty  in  the  1920s  95 
Visiting  Lecturers  98 
Curriculum   102 
A  Change  in  Athletics  102 
Aspects  of  Student  Life  108 
Hazing  and  Social  Clubs  113 
Alumni  Activities  and 

National  Associations  117 

6.  SURVIVAL  THROUGH  THE 

depression:  the  1930s  119 
A  Move  to  Reduce  Expenses  120 
Additional  Revenues  121 
Changes  in  the  Faculty  122 
A  Question  of  Tenure  123 
Some  Memorable  Professors  124 
More  Visiting  Lecturers  125 
Only  a  Few  Building 

Projects  125 
Hazing  and  Other  Student 

Activities  127 
Athletics — The  Golden  Age  129 
The  Distant  Thunder  of 

World  Events  132 


Contents 


7,  A  DECADE  OF  CHANGE! 
THE   1940s    134 

War  Affects  the  Campus  134 
Important  Changes  During  the 

War  Years  135 
Postwar  Changes  136 
The  Trustees'  Long-Range 

Plan  140 
A  President  to  Succeed 

Edgar  O.  Lovett   141 
President  Houston  Takes 

Office  143 
Changes  in  Curriculum 

and  Admissions  147 
Changes  in  Faculty  and 

Physical  Plant  149 
Student  Concerns  157 
Student  Activities  in  the 

1940s  162 

8.  A  DECADE  OF  GROWTH! 
THE    1950s    168 

Reorganizing  the  Board  168 


A  New  Emphasis  on  Fund 

Raising  169 
Grown h  in  the 

Administration  170 
New  Faces  on  the  Faculty  172 
The  ig^os  Building  Boom  173 
The  Residential  College 

System  178 
Academic  Difficulties  188 
A  New  Attitude  Among 

Students  190 
A  Lighter  View  of  Campus 

Life  193 
The  i9<,os  in  Summary  195 

9.  NEW  PLANS  TO  FIT  A 
NEW  NAME    196 

Changing  the  Institute's 

Name  196 
A  Change  in  Presidents  197 
The  Move  to  Charge  Tuition  200 
President  Pitzer's  Long-Range 

Plan  202 


Further  Changes  in  the 

Curriculum  205 
Admissions  Procedures  206 
The  "Rice  Myth  "  207 
Student  Activities  209 

10.  SEMICENTENNIAL    21  3 

Notes  219 
Bibliography  237 
Index  241 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


1.  Downtown  Houston, 
1915  I  2 

2.  Visitors  to  the  opening 
ceremonies  I  3 

3.  Academic  procession  at  the 
opening  ceremonies  I  5 

4.  South  Hall  and  the 
Commons  I  6 

5.  Henry  Van  Dyke  reading  the 
inaugural  poem  I  7 

6.  Faculty  Chamber,  1912  I  8 

7.  Approach  to  the  Administra- 
tion Building  I  9 

8.  William  Marsh  Rice  I  12 

9.  The  fraudulent  will  /  13 

10.  The  first  Board  of 
Trustees  /  14 

11.  Edgar  Odell  Lovett  I  20 

12.  Ralph  Adams  Cram  I  26 

13.  The  final  architectural 
plan  /  29 

14.  Early  construction  of  the 
Administration  Building  I  30 

15.  William  Ward  Watkin  I  30 

16.  Mid-construction  of  the 
Administration  Building  /  30 

17.  The  Administration  Build- 
ing nearly  completed  I  30 

18.  The  finished  building  /  31 

19.  View  through  the 
Sallyport  /  32 

20.  The  completed  Faculty 
Chamber  733 

21.  President  Lovett' s 
office  /  ^4. 

22.  Boys'  study  I  35 

23.  Third  floor  classroom  /  36 


24.  Mechanical  Engineering 
Laboratory  construction  I  t,G 

25.  Completed  laboratory 
building  /  37 

26.  Commons  dining 
room  /  38 

27.  Commons  kitchen  739 

28.  Darwin  I  40 

29.  DeLesseps  I  40 

30.  Thucydides  I  40 

31.  Plaque  dedicated  to 
science  741 

32.  Plaque  dedicated  to 
art  /  41 

33.  Laying  the  cornerstone  I  42 

34.  The  cornerstone 
inscription  I  42 

35.  The  first  faculty  I  46 

36.  Registration  Day,  1912  I  47 

37.  The  Owl  Literary 
Society  751 

38.  The  Elizabeth  Baldwin  Lit- 
erary Society  751 

39.  The  Rice  Institute  Engi- 
neering Society  752 

40.  The  Women's  Tennis 
Club  I  52 

41.  Football  team,  191 2  I  54 

42.  Football  team,  19 13  755 

43.  Sammy  I  56 

44.  Baseball  team,  1913  I  56 

45.  An  early  track  team  756 

46.  Harold  A.  Wilson  I  57 

47.  Percy  /.  Daniell  7  57 

48.  Julian  S.  Huxley  /  S7 

49.  Arthur  L.  Hughes  /  S7 

50.  Stockton  Axson  I  58 


51.  Albert  L.  Guerard  I  58 

52.  Radoslav  A.  Tsanoff  I  58 

53.  Claude  Heaps  759 

54.  Harry  B.  Weiser  759 

55.  Samuel  G.  McCann  759 

56.  Alice  Crowell  Dean  and 
Sara  Stratford  I  64 

57.  The  first  library  I  66 

58.  Academic  procession,  first 
commencement  I  67 

59.  Conferring  of  degrees  7  68 

60.  Company  A,  Cadet 
Corps  /  71 

61.  Company  B,  Cadet 
Corps  /  ji 

62.  Infantry  life,  1917  I  72 

63.  "B.V.D.  Co."  I  73 

64.  The  women's  cadet  corps, 
1917  I  74-75 

65.  Cartoon  and  poem  of  cav- 
alry life  7  76 

66.  Tape  7  78-79 

67.  The  Students'  Army  Train- 
ing Corps  7  81 

68.  The  case  of  Lyford  P. 
Edwards  7  86 

69.  Aerial  photograph.  Admin- 
istration Building  I  89 

70.  Aerial  photograph,  Autry 
House  I  89 

71.  Aerial  photograph,  resi- 
dential halls  I  90 

72.  Exterior  of  Chemistry 
Building  /  91 

73.  Carving  on  capital.  Chem- 
istry Building  I  91 

74.  Industrial  laboratory  I  92 


Illustrations 


75.  Individual  laboiatory  I  92 

76.  Main  dispensing  room  793 

77.  Lecture  hall,  Chemistry 
Building  /  93 

78.  French  educational 
mission  I  97 

79.  "Pershing  Day,"  1920  I  98 

80.  General  Pershing  I  99 

81.  Sir  Henry  Jones  /  100 

82.  Laying  cornerstone  for  Co- 
hen House  /  loi 

83.  Rendering  of  Cohen 
House  /  loi 

84.  Rice  vs.  Arkansas, 
igrg  I  103 

85.  Pep  Parade  /  103 

86.  ]ohn  W  Heisman  /  104 

87.  Golf  team,  1930  I  107 

88.  Laying  cornerstone  for  Au- 
try  House  /  109 

89.  Autry  House  /no 

90.  First  May  Fete  king  and 
queen  /in 

91.  First  Archi-Arts  Ball  /  1 1 1 

92.  The  Rice  Owl,  Apr. 
1924  /  1 12 

93.  The  Rice  Owl,  Dec. 
1924  /  113 

94.  First  Rice  Engineering 
Show  program  /  114 

95.  First  Slime  Nightshirt 
Parade  /  116 

96.  Installation  of  Phi  Beta 
Kappa  I  111 

97.  Sarah  Lane  I  122 

98.  Statue  of  William  Marsh 
Rice  /  126 

99.  May  Fete,  1938  I  128 

100.  Football  team, 
1937-38  I  130 

loi.  Basketball  game, 

1935  I  131 

102.  £.  Y.  Steakley  track 
star  I  132 

103.  Tennis  team,  1938  I  132 

104.  Golf  team,  1939  I  133 


105.  Purchase  of  Rincon  Oil 
Field  /  138 

106.  William  Vennillion 
Houston  /  144 

107.  Renaming  Administration 
Building  "Lovett  Hall"  I  145 

108.  Construction  of  Fondren 
Library,  June  1947  /  151 

109.  Construction  of  Fondren 
Library,  April  1948  I  151 

no.  Construction  of  Fondren 
Library,  July  1948  I  151 

111.  Circulation  area  /  152 

112.  Lecture  Lounge  /  i^i 

113.  Music  and  Arts 
Lounge  /  1 5  2 

114.  Construction  of  Anderson 
Hall,  Nov.  1946  I  154 

115.  Construction  of  Anderson 
Hall,  July  1947  /  154 

116.  Construction  of  Anderson 
Hall,  Dec.  1947  /  154 

117.  Groundbreaking  for  Aber- 
crombie  Lab  I  155 

118.  Aerial  view  of 
construction  /  155 

1 19.  The  completed  Abercrom- 
bie  Lab  /  155 

120.  "Uncle  Jupe"  /  156 

121.  Interior  of  Abercrombie 
Lab  /  157 

122.  Construction  of  new  Rice 
Stadium  /  158 

123.  Completed  stadium  with 
Jess  Neely  I  158-59 

124.  Cheerleaders,  1946  I  162 

125.  Rice  vs.  Texas  A&^M, 
1946  I  165 

126.  Rice  vs.  Texas  A&^M. 
1948  I  165 

127.  Freshman  track  team, 
1947—48  I  166 

128.  Carey  Croneis  /  172 

129.  Van  de  Graaff 
accelerator  /  174 

130.  Keith-Wiess  Geological 
Lab  I  175 


131.  Construction  of  Hamman 
Hall  /  175 

132.  Hamman  Hall,  nearly 
completed  I  176 

133.  Plans  for  Rice  Memorial 
Student  Center  I  176 

134.  Construction  of  student 
center  /  177 

135.  Bookstore,  student 
center  / 177 

136.  Banks  Street 
apartments  I  182 

137.  Construction  of  Jones 
College  /  183 

138.  Dormitory  group  I  184 

139.  Wiess  College  /  185 

140.  Rice  Exposition, 

I9S4  I  193 

141.  Football  team, 

I9S3-54  I  194 

142.  Football  team, 
1957-58  I  194 

143.  Basketball  team. 

1953-54  I  195 

144.  Kenneth  Sanborn 
Pitzer  /  199 

145.  Rayzor  Hall 
construction  I  205 

146.  Rondelet,  1962-63  I  209 

147.  Will  Rice  Chorus, 
1962-63  I  210 

148.  President  Eisenhower's 
i960  visit  /ill 

149.  President  Kennedy's  1962 
visit  /  212 

150-155.  Semicentennial  and 
installation  of  Pitzer  I  214-215 


FOREWORD 


This  history  of  Rice  University 
during  its  first  fifty  years  is 
largely  the  product  of  the  inspira- 
tion and  hard  work  of  a  Rice 
alumnus,  Willoughby  Williams 
(Rice  '39).  Willoughby,  a  long- 
time staunch  supporter  of  Rice, 
was  one  of  the  primary  forces  m 
an  earlier  project  that  brought  to 
publication  William  Marsh  Rice 
and  His  Institute,  a  volume 
based  on  the  work  of  historian 
Andrew  Forest  Muir  and  edited 
by  Sylvia  Morris.  That  book  de- 
rived to  a  considerable  extent 
from  an  existing  manuscript  that 
had  been  prepared  by  Muir  before 
his  death.  Work  on  a  history  of 
the  university  loomed  as  a  much 
larger  project,  since  materials  and 
oral  histories  would  have  to  be 
compiled  from  scratch.  To  Wil- 
loughby, ably  seconded  by  Ray 
Watkin  Hoagland  (Rice  '36)  and  a 
group  of  other  interested  individ- 
uals, time  was  critical.  Many  of 
the  early  records  of  the  university 
had  already  been  lost  beyond  re- 
covery, and  much  that  was  avail- 
able only  in  the  memories  of 
early  faculty  and  graduates  would 
soon  be  gone.  If  a  history  of  the 
early  years  of  the  university  was 
to  be  written,  it  had  to  be  done 
without  delay. 

Willoughby  began  to  organize 
support,  and  the  Rice  University 


Historical  Commission  was 
formed  in  1975  with  H.  Malcolm 
Lovett  (Rice  '21)  as  chairman.  I 
agreed  to  direct  the  project  with 
the  advice  of  historian  and  pro- 
vost Frank  E.  Vandiver  and  archi- 
vist Nancy  Boothe  Parker  (Rice 
'52).  Willoughby  Williams,  aided 
by  Malcolm  Lovett  and  Ray 
Hoagland  (and  later  by  E.  [oe 
Shimek,  Rice  '29,  and  John  B. 
Coffee,  Rice  '34),  spearheaded  the 
money-raising  aspects  of  the 
work,  and  a  three-year  project 
was  organized  to  survey  the  ex- 
isting records,  recover  what  was 
possible  of  the  early  material,  in- 
terview key  figures,  and  write  the 
history  of  Rice  from  its  founding 
through  1962-63,  the  year  of  the 
semicentennial  celebrating  the 
opening  of  Rice  in  1912.  This 
work  would  not  have  been  possi- 
ble without  Willoughby  Wil- 
liams, Joe  Shimek,  and  all  those 
individuals  who  contributed 
money  and  time  in  support  of  our 
effort. 

This  history  has  been  written 
in  order  to  recapture  as  accu- 
rately as  possible  the  story  of  the 
planning  and  dedication,  as  well 
as  the  working  out  in  practice,  of 
the  ideas  of  a  group  of  men  de- 
voted to  creating  an  educational 
institution  worthy  of  the  trust 
evinced  by  William  Marsh  Rice 


when  in  1891  he  drew  up  an  in- 
denture containing  the  outlines 
for  the  institution  he  intended  to 
endow.  The  goals  of  William 
Marsh  Rice  himself,  of  the  mem- 
bers of  the  first  Board  of  Trust- 
ees, and  of  Edgar  Odell  Lovett, 
the  first  president  of  the  univer- 
sity, provided  the  guidelines  by 
which  the  institution  gradually 
worked  out  its  organization  and 
plans  for  the  future. 

Although  Rice  University  (of- 
ficially Rice  Institute  throughout 
most  of  the  time  covered  by  this 
history)  is  the  central  focus  of 
this  book.  Rice  cannot  be  re- 
garded as  standing  in  isolation 
from  the  rest  of  the  world  of  uni- 
versity education.  If  in  these 
pages  it  sometimes  appears  that 
Rice  faced  unusual  financial 
problems  during  the  Great  De- 
pression, we  should  remember 
that  those  problems  were  dif- 
ferent only  in  detail  from  prob- 
lems facing  every  institution  of 
higher  learning  at  the  time;  if 
Rice  faced  problems  reestablish- 
ing its  educational  image  follow- 
ing the  conclusion  of  World  War 
II,  so  also  did  every  other  univer- 
sity worthy  of  the  name.  The 
world  of  education  is  not  static. 
William  Marsh  Rice  himself  had 
experienced  some  feeling  of  this 
in  the  gradual  shift  of  his  goal 


Foreword 


from  endowing  an  orphans'  tech- 
nical school  to  endowing  an  in- 
stitution of  higher  learning  for 
the  advancement  of  science,  liter- 
ature, and  art.  Likewise  the  ideas 
of  the  members  of  the  Board  of 
Trustees  expanded  and  developed 
through  their  years  of  grappling 
with  the  problems  of  freeing  the 
endowment  of  entanglements,  of 
searching  for  a  president  for  the 
new  institution,  and  of  working 
with  a  series  of  notable  univer- 
sity presidents,  beginning  with 


the  first,  Edgar  Odell  Lovett,  in 
setting  goals  for  the  university 
and  striving  to  attain  those  goals 
in  practice. 

Our  author,  Fredericka  Meiners 
(Rice  '63),  who  holds  the  Ph.D.  in 
history,  is  well  trained  for  her 
task,  and  she  has  worked  long 
and  hard  to  portray  this  history 
of  Rice  as  accurately  as  possible. 
Of  course,  since  she  is  a  Rice 
alumna,  she  cannot  be  un- 
biased— no  alumnus  is.  The  great 
majority  of  students  who  have 


attended  Rice  have  loved  the 
place — for  its  weaknesses  as  well 
as  for  its  strengths.  Miss  Meiners 
is  no  exception.  Hers  is  an  honest 
representation  based  on  a  great 
deal  of  work  and  a  careful  sifting 
of  the  source  material  available.  I 
hope  that  you  like  it — I  too  am 
an  alum. 

Katherine  Fischer  Drew  '44 


PREFACE 


Students  at  Rice  learn  slowly 
about  the  history  of  the  univer- 
sity. During  freshman  orientation 
they  hear  the  story  of  the  found- 
er's murder.  They  tour  the  cam- 
pus and  begin  to  appreciate  the 
buildings  and  their  often  whimsi- 
cal decorations.  Tales  of  pro- 
fessors or  past  events  are  passed 
down  through  the  student  grape- 
vine, and  traditions  are  main- 
tained, although  even  those 
change  with  time.  A  professor 
may  relate  a  story  from  the  "good 
old  days"  some  fifteen  or  twenty 
years  agO;  the  student  newspaper, 
the  Thresher,  may  reprint  an 
item  from  an  early  edition,  ex- 
plain the  evolution  of  the  college 
court  system,  or  describe  the  de- 
velopment of  the  spring  festival, 
Rondelet,  and  its  component 
Beer-Bike  Race.  An  alumnus  may 
ask  a  current  student  how  things 
are  going  and  then  start  reminis- 
cing with  the  ominous  words, 
"Now,  when  I  was  at  Rice,  it  was 
really  hard."  Through  these 
sources  students  gain  a  piece- 
meal knowledge  of  the  past,  lore 
that  often  has  little  meaning  for 
present  residents  of  Rice,  who  are 
naturally  more  interested  in  the 
university  as  they  experience  it. 
It  is  the  view  of  Rice  that  one 
absorbs  as  a  student  that  tends  to 
stick  in  the  mind  and  that  often 


leads  to  the  assumption  that  Rice 
is  unchanging.  Only  by  active, 
prolonged  involvement  with  the 
university,  its  faculty,  and  its  stu- 
dents does  an  alumnus  really  see 
changes  taking  place  withm  the 
structure. 

My  original  view  of  Rice  was 
as  an  undergraduate  coming  to 
the  campus  in  1959  (when  it  was 
still  the  Rice  Institute).  After 
staying  for  an  additional  year  be- 
yond my  B.A.  in  1963  to  earn  a 
teaching  certificate,  I  left  to 
teach  in  public  school.  I  retained 
some  of  my  ties  on  campus  and 
read  about  events  there,  and 
when  I  returned  to  Rice  in  1970 
for  graduate  work,  I  did  not  ex- 
pect much  difficulty  in  adapting 
myself. 

What  I  found,  however,  was  a 
university  much  changed.  It  was 
bigger:  more  buildings,  more  stu- 
dents, more  professors,  more 
courses.  There  was  an  admin- 
istrative bureaucracy.  The  feeling 
was  more  impersonal;  gone  were 
the  days  when  everyone  knew  al- 
most everyone  else  on  campus. 
There  was  also  somehow  a  dif- 
ferent atmosphere,  a  more  re- 
laxed, less  pressure-filled  exis- 
tence for  the  undergraduates. 
Perhaps  this  was  due  to  the 
changed  curriculum.  Every  other 
undergraduate  seemed  to  be  a 


"double  major,"  a  difficult  status 
to  obtain  in  my  previous  student 
days  because  of  all  the  specific 
courses  required.  There  were  also 
many  smaller  changes.  No  longer 
were  women  plagued  with  the 
regulation  against  wearing  pants 
m  the  library.  The  Chemistry 
Lecture  Hall  was  air-conditioned 
and  sported  upholstered  seats. 
Freshmen  were  downright  pam- 
pered during  orientation  week, 
and  liquor  could  be  served  on 
campus. 

Even  with  the  changes,  how- 
ever. Rice  was  recognizable  to  a 
graduate  of  1963.  Some  of  the  old 
student  irreverence  toward  the 
place  lingered,  much  softened 
and  showing  up  hilariously  in 
the  performances  of  the  MOB 
(Marching  Owl  Band).  A  great 
deal  of  pressure  remained.  Stu- 
dents still  found  it  difficult  to  ex- 
plain what  Rice  was  really  like  to 
their  friends  who  had  gone  to 
other  schools.  That  particular 
brand  of  self-deprecating  arro- 
gance and  snobbishness  was  still 
manifest,  now  in  T-shirt  inscrip- 
tions: "I  go  to  Rice,  I  must  be 
smart."  The  college  system  was 
stronger  than  ever,  as  were  the 
perennial  complaints  about  the 
college  food  service.  And  even 
without  a  speaker  at  commence- 
ment, Rice  managed  a  satisfying 


Preface 


spectacle  with  flags  flying,  the 
traditional  simple  ceremony,  and 
attention  where  it  belonged:  on 
the  graduates. 

When  I  returned  to  Rice  m 
1976  to  write  its  history,  I  knew 
that  change  and  development 
would  be  one  of  my  major 
themes,  as  it  is  for  almost  any 
history.  At  the  same  time  I  knew 
that  there  were  several  different 
perceptions  of  that  change  that  I 
would  have  to  explore.  The  Board 
of  Governors  had  one  perspective 
on  the  Institute,  the  faculty  an- 
other, the  students  still  another, 
and  the  outside  world  yet  a  dif- 
ferent one.  My  main  areas  for 
concern  would  be  the  board's  ac- 
tions, usually  involving  finances, 
construction,  and  presidential 
searches;  the  university  admin- 
istration's decisions  and  actions 
relating  to  a  wide  range  of  sub- 
jects; and  faculty  actions  and 
changes.  Curriculum  develop- 
ments would  be  important  be- 
cause they  would  show  what 
kind  of  education  Rice  offered  its 
students  and  hence  what  kind  of 
university  program  its  presidents 
and  faculty  envisioned.  I  would 
also  want  to  report  on  student 
life,  from  student  associations  to 
hazing,  from  special  campus 
events  to  routine  occurrences, 
from  the  trials  of  athletic  teams 
to  student  attitudes  toward  Rice 
in  general. 

Since  it  is  impossible  to  name 
every  person  of  prominence  on 
campus  and  to  tell  every  story,  I 
knew  I  would  have  to  limit  my 
coverage  of  this  area  to  firsts 
(such  as  the  first  May  Fete  queen 
and  king),  to  stories  involving 


many  people,  and  to  ongoing 
events  and  traditions,  hoping  to 
evoke  memories  in  the  minds  of 
alumni  while  describing  student 
life  sufficiently  for  nonalumni  to 
understand. 

As  I  began  to  explore  the 
sources  it  became  clear  that  I 
could  not  organize  the  story 
around  a  series  of  chapters  deal- 
ing with  single  topics,  such  as 
one  chapter  on  all  the  board  deci- 
sions and  another  on  curriculum 
development.  Each  topic  was  tied 
to  the  others,  so  interlocked  that 
telling  each  separately  would 
make  the  story  incomprehen- 
sible. So  I  have  told  the  story 
chronologically.  After  a  synopsis 
of  the  events  leading  to  the 
founding  of  the  Institute,  Wil- 
liam Marsh  Rice's  murder,  and 
actions  settling  the  murder  case 
and  Rice's  will,  this  history  be- 
gins with  receipt  of  the  endow- 
ment by  the  board  in  1907.  It 
ends  with  the  semicentennial 
year,  1962-63.  This  is  a  conve- 
nient stopping  point  for  a  variety 
of  reasons.  Up  to  that  time,  even 
considering  the  growth  of  the  In- 
stitute after  World  War  II  and  per- 
haps despite  the  change  m  stu- 
dent attitudes  in  the  19SOS,  Rice 
history  seems  a  coherent  fabric. 
During  the  1960s,  partly  through 
President  Pitzer's  expansion  pro- 
gram, partly  because  of  the  tur- 
moil and  changes  in  American 
society  as  a  whole,  the  Rice  that 
emerged  was  not  the  same,  in 
real  and  in  subtle  ways. 

To  tell  the  later  story  would 
greatly  lengthen  the  time  needed 
for  research  and  writing  and 
would  involve  events  too  recent 


for  us  to  have  developed  a  histor- 
ical perspective.  Furthermore,  it 
was  a  problem  to  decide  where  to 
stop  if  I  continued  past  1963.  I 
did  not  find  it  sensible  to  end 
with  Kenneth  Pitzer's  departure, 
or  Frank  E.  Vandiver's  acting 
presidency,  or  Norman  Hacker- 
man's  arrival;  either  too  much 
was  still  unsettled  at  each  of 
these  points,  or  my  history 
would  seem  just  to  meander  to  a 
close.  By  stopping  in  1963  I  could 
include  the  name  change  from 
Institute  to  University,  introduce 
the  new  president  and  his  plans, 
use  the  formal  opening  and  the 
semicentennial  as  stylistic  book- 
ends,  and  finish  optimistically. 
Sources  for  the  history  up  to 
1963  were  not  as  plentiful  as  I 
had  hoped.  The  most  important 
were  the  collection  of  Presidents' 
Papers,  other  collections  such  as 
the  Watkin  Papers,  copies  of  Rice 
publications,  and  various  ar- 
tifacts in  the  Woodson  Research 
Center  of  Fondren  Library,  where 
the  archives  of  the  university  are 
located.  These  documents  did  not 
satisfy  my  historian's  curiosity. 
As  a  private  institution  in  a  time 
of  little  regulation  by  any  outside 
entity,  the  Institute  was  not  ob- 
liged to  keep  many  records.  The 
only  office  that  could  be  counted 
on  to  have  its  records  intact  was 
that  of  the  registrar.  The  Presi- 
dents' Papers  are  full  of  lacunae: 
in  some  instances  no  memoranda 
were  kept  (if  they  were  ever  writ- 
ten), papers  were  lost  in  floods  or 
were  simply  cleaned  out  of  the 
files  and  thrown  away  when  the 
relevant  matters  were  settled. 
Rice  was  a  small  communitv,  and 


Preface 


much  of  its  business  was  trans- 
acted by  one  person  who  con- 
sulted another,  arrived  at  a 
decision,  and  implemented  it 
without  recording  it.  No  Deans' 
Papers  exist  for  the  first  fifty 
years,  except  for  a  few  letters  and 
some  other  information  from 
Dean  Cameron's  tenure  in  the 
I9SOS.  The  minutes  of  the  fac- 
ulty have  been  preserved  and 
were  quite  valuable  in  tracing 
curriculum  development.  The 
minutes  of  the  Board  of  Gover- 
nors are  complete  in  the  trea- 
surer's office,  but  the  correspon- 
dence files  are  nearly  empty  for 
the  years  before  1940.  Depart- 
mental records  simply  do  not  ex- 
ist before  the  fifties.  I  was 
surprised  to  find  that  for  many 
matters  I  had  more  information 
on  the  early  days  than  I  did  for 
the  beginnmg  of  Pitzer's  admin- 
istration. Much  of  the  Pitzer  col- 
lection has  not  yet  been  carefully 
inventoried;  I  expect  that  more 
detailed  information  from  the 
first  years  of  that  administration 
will  be  found  in  it. 

Fortunately,  there  are  still  a 
number  of  people  living  who  re- 
member the  beginnings  of  the 
school.  Or  to  put  it  another  way, 
as  Allie  Mae  Autry  Kellcy  did  at 
the  reunion  of  the  fifty-year 
classes  in  1976,  "Isn't  it  wonder- 
ful that  so  many  of  us  are  still 
vertical!"  I  am  indebted  to  the 
alumni  and  faculty  members 
who  were  kind  enough  to  share 
their  memories.  Interviews  with 
them  were  extremely  helpful, 
giving  me  information  for  which 
there  was  no  other  source.  Since 
memories  are  notoriously  tricky. 


I  have  tried  not  to  use  informa- 
tion from  an  interview  unless  I 
had  corroborating  evidence  from 
another  informant  or  in  a  writ- 
ten source.  The  tapes  and  tran- 
scripts from  these  interviews  will 
be  placed  in  the  Woodson  Re- 
search Center  after  the  project  is 
completed. 

I  have  enjoyed  looking  into  the 
past  of  Rice  University.  There 
were  many  outstanding  person- 
alities to  consider,  a  few  myste- 
ries to  unravel,  and  a  number  of 
things  to  learn.  Most  of  my  pre- 
conceptions were  confirmed,  but 
not  all.  (For  example,  although 
excellence  has  always  been  its 
standard.  Rice  was  never  as 
wealthy  as  legend  had  painted 
it.)  I  have  met  a  number  of  Rice 
graduates  and  found  that,  even 
though  we  are  of  different  genera- 
tions, we  speak  the  same  lan- 
guage concerning  the  univer- 
sity— most  of  the  time.  Some  of 
my  opinions,  formed  after  the 
change  I  perceive  in  student  atti- 
tudes in  the  1950s,  are  closer  to 
those  of  present  students  than  to 
those  of  students  who  graduated 
fifteen  years  before  me. 

I  do  not  envy  whoever  picks  up 
the  story  from  here  and  has  the 
task  of  describing  and  explaining 
the  1960s,  but  I  wish  that  person 
well.  I  know  that  he  or  she  will 
enjoy,  as  I  have,  being  the  first  on 
the  scene  to  work  with  all  the 
sources,  trying  to  decide  what 
really  happened  and  why,  while 
attempting  to  maintain  a  balance 
between  a  professional  history 
and  what  might  be  called  a  popu- 
lar one.  I  hope  that  whoever  car- 
ries on  the  story  will  be  a  Rice 


graduate.  Rice  is  not  like  other 
universities.  And  all  of  its  alumni 
should  rejoice  in  that  fact. 

Fredericka  Meiners 
July  1982 


ACKNOWLEDGMENTS 


I  have  many  people  to  thank 
for  their  help  with  this  history. 
The  members  of  the  Rice  Histor- 
ical Commission  gave  both  fi- 
nancial and  moral  support.  Their 
interest  made  it  considerably 
easier  to  get  the  job  done.  Kather- 
ine  Drew  let  me  work  with  a 
minimum  of  interference  and  a 
maximum  of  aid.  Frank  Vandiver 
answered  many  questions  about 
the  past  and  the  present,  and 
Nancy  Parker  guided  me  through 
the  archives  in  the  Woodson  Re- 
search Center.  The  staff  of  the 
center  gave  much  of  their  time 
and  energy  to  the  project  and  put 
up  with  me  and  my  assistants  at 
the  same  time.  Moira  Sullivan,  a 
graduate  assistant,  was  indispen- 


sable for  her  interest  and  obser- 
vations and  for  her  exhaustive 
inventory  of  the  Presidents'  Pa- 
pers. Holly  Leitz  had  to  decipher 
my  scribblings  and  produce  a 
clean  typed  copy  of  the  manu- 
script. Elizabeth  Williams,  Bryan 
Pedeaux,  and  Ray  Watkin  Hoag- 
land  began  the  interviews  before 
I  arrived;  they  asked  all  the  right 
questions.  My  editors  at  Rice 
University  Studies,  first  Kathleen 
Much  and  then  Barbara  Burn- 
ham,  must  be  especially  com- 
mended for  their  excellent  and 
professional  aid.  I  wish  to  thank 
especially  all  the  alumni  and 
friends  of  Rice  who  gave  gener- 
ously of  their  time  to  be  inter- 
viewed. Without  them  the  his- 


tory would  have  been  impossible. 
To  the  many  readers  of  the  man- 
uscript versions,  especially  Ray 
Hoagland,  Eula  Goss  Winter- 
mann,  and  H.  Malcolm  Lovett,  I 
wish  also  to  express  my  apprecia- 
tion for  their  careful  reading  and 
valuable  suggestions. 

P.M. 


CHAPTER      1 


The  Opening 


Emblazoned  with  a  silver  seal 
and  blue  ribbon,  invitations  went 
out  in  wooden  cylinders  to  the 
leading  universities  and  learned 
societies  of  the  world:  the  presi- 
dent and  trustees  of  the  Rice  In- 
stitute request  a  representative  at 
the  formal  opening  of  the  new 
university  in  Houston,  Texas,  on 
October  lo,  ii,  and  12,  1912. 
Replies  came  from  the  University 
of  Paris,  the  Royal  Society  of 
London,  the  American  Philo- 
sophical Society,  Harvard,  Yale, 
and  Princeton,  the  American  So- 
ciety of  Civil  Engmeers,  the  Na- 
tional Geographic  Society,  the 
South  African  School  of  Mines 
and  Technology,  the  University  of 
the  Philippines,  and  from  scores 
of  others.  They  were  happy  to 
send  delegates  to  the  ceremonies 
and  wished  the  Institute  well  in 
its  endeavors.' 

So  gathered  in  Houston  a  group 
such  as  few  Texans  had  ever 
seen:  mathematicians,  biologists, 
physicists,  philosophers,  poets, 
historians,  engineers — illustrious 
scholars,  preeminent  representa- 


tives of  their  fields,  leaders  of 
their  own  institutions,  all  arriv- 
ing to  celebrate  the  Institute's 
opening. 

Situated  on  a  low-lying  coastal 
plain  fifty  miles  inland  from  the 
Gulf  of  Mexico,  Houston  was  a 
fast-growing  adolescent  city  of 
109,000  in  1912.'  Except  for  the 
port  of  Galveston,  there  were  no 
large  towns  for  miles  around. 
Coming  from  the  northeast, 
many  of  the  visitors  might  have 
looked  upon  their  trip  as  some- 
thing of  an  adventure:  Houston 
was  not  known  for  its  cultural  at- 
tractions in  1912,  and  the  very 
word  "Texas"  conjured  visions  of 
the  wild  western  frontier.  The 
city  did  offer  opportunities,  al- 
though they  were  more  financial 
than  aesthetic  or  intellectual. 
The  old  money  came  from  south- 
ern staples — cotton,  cattle,  and 
lumber — but  recent  big  oil  dis- 
coveries in  East  Texas  and  pro- 
duction of  sulfur  in  Brazoria 
County  to  the  south  augured  well 
for  the  future. 

At  the  time  of  the  opening. 


Houston  was  a  commercial  town, 
seemingly  more  interested  in  the 
advantages  of  dredging  a  ship 
channel  to  the  Gulf  than  in  the 
higher  aspects  of  the  mind.  Of- 
ficial Houston  was  not  blind, 
however,  to  the  attractions  that 
might  derive  from  a  university. 
One  newspaper  editor  was  so 
bold  as  to  declare  that  the  Rice 
Institute  would  be  more  valuable 
to  Houston  than  two  Panama  Ca- 
nals and  would  add  thousands  to 
the  city's  population.'  Whether 
Houstonians  viewed  the  addition 
as  offering  intellectual  benefits  or 
monetary  ones,  they  turned  out 
to  give  the  Institute  a  rousing 
send-off.  City  dignitaries  at- 
tended all  the  functions,  and 
several  clubs  opened  their  doors 
to  guests  of  the  Institute.  The 
Chamber  of  Commerce  hosted 
one  of  the  breakfasts  for  the  dele- 
gates. Many  Houstonians  saw 
some  part  of  the  ceremonies. 
There  was  much  to  see  and  hear. 

President  Edgar  Odell  Lovett 
and  the  Board  of  Trustees  under 
the  chairmanship  of  Captain 


The  Opening 


•P'^^^Sus 


I.  Main  Street,  downtown  Houston,  igis- 


The  Opening 


_» "«.' ' 

•"v^:.: 


2.  Delegates  and  visitors  to  the  formal  opening  ceremonies  of  the  William  Marsh  Rice  Institute, 
Saturday.  October  12.  1912. 


James  A.  Baker  had  invited  and 
assembled  an  outstanding  group 
of  scholars.  University  of  London 
professor  Sir  William  Ramsay,  a 
Nobel  laureate  knighted  for  his 
contributions  in  chemistry,  came 
to  speak  on  the  transmutation  of 
matter;  the  eminent  botanist 
Hugo  de  Vries  of  the  University 
of  Amsterdam  on  the  biological 
form  of  transmutation  in  hered- 


ity; and  the  historian  Rafael  Al- 
tamira  y  Crevea  of  the  University 
of  Oviedo,  Spain,  on  the  history 
of  human  progress.  The  cele- 
brated Emile  Borel  from  the  Uni- 
versity of  Paris  lectured  on  math- 
ematics, Sir  Henry  Jones  from 
Glasgow  discussed  philosophy, 
and  Vito  Volterra,  a  senator  of 
Italy,  spoke  on  mathematics  and 
the  work  of  Henri  Poincare,  who 


had  been  invited  to  speak  but 
died  after  preparing  his  lectures 
for  the  opening. 

Another  group  of  invited  lec- 
turers presented  their  work  by  ti- 
tle at  the  ceremonies,  with  the 
actual  papers  being  published 
later.  Sir  John  William  Mackail  of 
London  discussed  poetry  in  mod- 
ern life,  and  Frederik  Carl  Stor- 
mer  from  Christiania,  Norway, 


The  Opening 


wrote  on  cosmic  physics  and 
magnetic  storms.  From  Tokyo 
came  a  paper  by  Privy  Councilor 
Baron  Dairoku  Kikuchi  on  the  in- 
troduction of  western  learning 
into  Japan.  The  noted  Italian  phi- 
losopher and  statesman  Bene- 
detto Croce  wrote  on  art,  and 
Privy  Councilor  Wilhelm  Ost- 
wald  from  Leipzig,  Germany,  dis- 
cussed the  theory  of  education. 

Speakers  at  luncheons,  dinners, 
and  other  gatherings  included 
Dean  William  Francis  Magie  and 
Professor  Edwin  Grant  Conklin 
of  Princeton,  President  Harry 
Pratt  Judson  of  the  University 
of  Chicago,  Chancellor  James 
Hampton  Kirkland  of  Vanderhilt, 
Dean  George  Gary  Comstock  of 
the  University  of  Wisconsin,  and 
President  Samuel  Palmer  Brooks 
of  Baylor  University.  David  Starr 
Jordan  of  Stanford,  Ira  Remsen  of 
Johns  Hopkins,  Sidney  Edward 
Mezes  of  the  University  of  Texas, 
David  Ross  Boyd  of  the  Univer- 
sity of  New  Mexico,  and  William 
Trufant  Foster  of  Reed  College 
were  only  a  few  of  the  university 
presidents  representing  their 
institutions. 

In  the  words  of  former  Rice 
bursar  John  T.  McCants,  a  "rather 
elaborate"  schedule  was  arranged 
for  the  guests.  His  characteriza- 
tion was  something  of  an  under- 
statement. President  Lovett  and 
the  board  had  devised  a  program 
requiring  stamina  but  also  offer- 
ing much  entertainment.  Thurs- 
day, October  lo,  and  Friday  the 
eleventh  began  with  breakfast 
at  the  best  hotel  in  town,  the 
eleven-story  Bender.  Lectures  fol- 
lowed at  10:30  in  the  Faculty 
Chamber  of  the  Administration 


Building  at  the  Rice  Institute.  On 
Thursday  the  mayor  and  com- 
missioners of  Houston  invited 
the  delegates  to  lunch  at  the  City 
Auditorium's  banquet  hall;  after- 
wards all  returned  to  the  Insti- 
tute for  more  lectures  and  an 
informal  garden  party.  Thursday 
evening  Hugo  de  Vries  gave  a 
popular  illustrated  lecture  en- 
titled "The  Ideal  of  a  Naturalist" 
at  the  Majestic  Theater,  and  Cap- 
tain and  Mrs.  Baker  hosted  a  re- 
ception at  their  home. 

Photographs  and  written  ac- 
counts record  the  celebration. 
Those  who  knew  many  of  the 
delegates  in  person  or  by  repu- 
tation found  it  striking  to  see 
Ramsay,  de  Vries,  Borel,  and  the 
others  in  the  middle  of  a  Texas 
prairie,  or  even  in  the  banquet 
room  of  the  Hotel  Bender.  The 
English  biologist  Julian  Huxley, 
soon  to  be  an  instructor  at  the 
Institute,  was  not  impressed 
with  the  speeches  of  some  of  the 
Texas  politicians,  especially  that 
of  Governor  Oscar  B.  Colquitt, 
who  spoke  extemporaneously 
about  the  wonders  of  Texas.  But 
a  graceful  little  address  by  Dean 
Comstock  of  Wisconsin  more 
than  compensated  for  the  gover- 
nor's boasting.^  Colquitt's  lun- 
cheon address  was  one  of  the  first 
in  a  long  line  of  speeches  and  lec- 
tures to  be  heard  in  the  next  two 
days. 

After  the  next  morning's  talks, 
Friday  afternoon  was  filled  by  a 
luncheon  at  the  Thalian  Club 
given  by  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Jonas 
Shearn  Rice  at  one  o'clock,  a  con- 
cert by  the  Kneisel  Quartet  of 
New  York  at  the  Majestic  at 
three,  a  garden  party  given  by  Mr. 


and  Mrs.  Edwin  Brewington  Par- 
ker at  five  o'clock,  and  another 
concert  by  the  Kneisel  Quartet  in 
the  Faculty  Chamber  at  eight- 
thirty.  Dinner  in  the  Commons 
of  the  residential  hall  on  campus 
rounded  out  a  busy  day. 

By  Friday  night's  dinner,  which 
started  much  later  than  sched- 
uled, some  of  the  guests  were 
feeling  the  effects  of  the  constant 
activities.  The  first  course,  a 
grapefruit  filled  with  a  combina- 
tion of  potent  liquors,'  brightened 
the  guests'  outlook  and  provided 
some  amusement;  but  afterwards 
the  speeches  continued.  This 
round  consisted  of  responses  by 
the  principal  speakers,  toasting 
the  new  institution  in  the  name 
of  various  disciplines  such  as 
mathematics  and  philosophy. 
After  eight  such  addresses,  cut 
short  in  some  cases  by  the  re- 
sponder  as  he  remarked  on  the 
lateness  of  the  hour,  Boston  ar- 
chitect Ralph  Adams  Cram  was 
called  upon  to  speak  about  art. 
Julian  Huxley,  who  was  sitting 
next  to  Lady  Ramsay,  reported 
that  "Cram  rose  to  his  feet,  pro- 
duced an  enormous  roll  of  type- 
script from  his  pocket  and  pro- 
ceeded to  read  implacably  on. 
After  twenty  minutes,  the  lady 
could  stand  no  more:  'Oh,  I  am 
so  tired!  .  .  .  '  she  said,  and  let  her 
head  fall  forward  on  to  her  hands 
on  the  table."' 

Saturday  was  different;  Satur- 
day was  special.  Tired  or  not, 
at  9:30  A.M.  the  delegates  and 
guests  assembled  in  academic  re- 
galia at  the  residential  hall  and 
proceeded  to  the  cloisters  of  the 
Administration  Building  for  the 
formal  dedication  of  the  Insti- 


The  Opening 


3.  The  academic  procession  at  the  formal  opening  ceremonies.  The  grounds  were  still  under  construction,  with 
debris  scattered  in  the  background. 


tute.  A  band  led  the  way.  Upon 
reaching  the  Academic  Court, 
speakers  and  board  members 
mounted  the  platform,  while  del- 
egates took  their  seats  in  the 
semicircle  of  chairs  arranged  in 
front. 

First  came  a  reading  from  the 
Bible  and  the  singing  of  "Veni 
Creator  Spiritus."  Then  Henry 
Van  Dyke  of  Princeton  read  the 
inaugural  poem,  "Texas,  A  Dem- 
ocratic Ode,"  followed  by  Chief 
Justice  Thomas  Jefferson  Brown 
of  the  Texas  Supreme  Court 
speaking  on  education  and  the 
state.  Thomas  Frank  Gailor,  the 


Episcopal  bishop  of  Tennessee, 
discoursed  on  education  and  the 
church.  President  Lovett  then 
had  his  opportunity  to  expound 
on  the  new  university's  source  in 
the  legacy  of  William  Marsh 
Rice;  its  site  in  the  South,  m 
Texas,  and  in  Houston;  the  scope 
of  its  activity;  and  its  spirit  of  in- 
quiry, inspiration,  and  progress. 
A  glimpse  of  the  high  purpose 
and  enthusiastic  spirit  of  adven- 
ture shared  by  the  small  group  of 
students  and  faculty  at  the  inau- 
guration could  be  seen  in  the  ad- 
dress. It  reflected  the  idealistic 
and  hopeful  attitude  of  the  early 


years  of  the  Rice  Institute  and 
contained  the  germ  of  many 
ideas  that,  combined,  were  to 
make  Rice  unique.  In  the  actual 
address  and  its  expanded  version 
published  in  Volume  I,  Number  i 
of  the  Rice  Institute  Pamphlet, 
Lovett  spoke  of  educating  an  in- 
tellectual elite,  of  community 
service,  an  honor  system,  a  colle- 
giate residential  system,  a  broad 
liberal  education,  and  of  recog- 
nizing outstanding  scholarship 
by  awards  and  financial  assis- 
tance. No  less  important  were  a 
spirit  of  independent  judgment 
and  initiative  xn  scholarly  re- 


The  Opening 


4.  Delegates  and  guests  proceeding  past  the  new  dormitory.  South  Hall,  and  the  Commons,  both  still  under 
construction. 


search.  The  ceremony  closed 
with  the  choir  singing  the  "One 
Hundredth  Psalm";  the  Reverend 
Dr.  Charles  Frederic  Aked,  pas- 
tor of  the  First  Congregational 
Church  of  San  Francisco,  pro- 
nounced the  benediction. 

After  more  speeches  lunch  was 
served  in  the  Commons,  and 
there  were  more  congratulatory 
addresses.  Another  reception  fol- 
lowed, this  one  given  by  Dr.  and 
Mrs.  Lovett  at  the  young  but  ele- 
gant Houston  Country  Club. 
Then  the  delegates  boarded  a  spe- 
cial train  to  Galveston  for  a  sea- 


food supper  and  overnight  ac- 
commodations at  the  Hotel 
Galvez,  without  speeches,  for  a 
change.  The  special  train  brought 
everyone  back  to  Houston  on 
Sunday  for  a  religious  service  in 
the  City  Auditorium  with  a  ser- 
mon by  the  Reverend  Dr.  Aked. 
Many  Protestant  churches  in 
Houston  omitted  their  morning 
services  so  their  members  could 
join  in  the  dedication.^ 

The  formal  opening  cere- 
monies caused  a  certain  amount 
of  disruption  in  class  schedules, 
but  for  the  most  part  the  stu- 


dents were  on  the  outskirts  of  the 
festivities.  They  heard  some  of 
the  lectures  in  the  Faculty  Cham- 
ber from  the  small  balcony  above 
the  entrance  and  were  much  im- 
pressed by  the  dignitaries  there. 
A  number  of  young  men  also 
found  themselves  invited  to  the 
dinner  m  the  Commons  when  so 
many  tired  guests  did  not  come 
that  several  tables  were  empty. 
These  students  devoured  every- 
thing from  the  punch-filled 
grapefruit  to  dessert — quite  a 
meal  for  brand-new  freshmen.' 
Photographs  of  the  events 


The  Opening 


^.ysuMv.- 


5.  Professor  Henry  Van  Dyke  of  Princeton  University  reading  tfie  inaugural 
poem,  "Texas,  A  Democratic  Ode,"  which  he  wrote  as  part  of  the  formal 
dedication  ceremonies.  October  12,  1912. 


show  a  physical  plant  in  an  im- 
perfect state.  No  building  was 
finished.  Although  exteriors  were 
presentable,  interiors  were  an- 
other matter.  The  Faculty  Cham- 
ber, a  high-ceilinged  room  ap- 
proximately twenty-seven  feet 
wide  by  eighty  feet  long,  did  have 
churchlike  pews  mstalled  along 
each  side  facing  the  center  aisle 
in  the  collegiate  style;  and  the 
stage  where  the  lecturers  stood 
was  in  place.  The  lighting,  how- 
ever, consisted  of  bare  bulbs  dan- 
gling at  the  end  of  long  wires 
extending  from  holes  in  the  ceil- 
ing. Neither  the  chamber  nor  the 
Commons  was  large  enough  for 
the  Saturday  convocation,  so  a 
platform  for  the  speakers  was 
erected  outside,  on  the  west  side 
of  the  Administration  Building. 
The  new  university's  grounds 
look  bleak  in  the  black-and- 
white  photographs.  Construction 
equipment  is  strewn  about  in  the 
background,  and  only  the  large- 
gravel  beds  for  the  roads  had  been 
laid,  not  the  fine-gravel  top.  Al- 
though trees  had  been  planted  to 
line  the  roadways,  one  notices 
the  street  lights  first  because 
they  are  considerably  taller  than 
the  trees.  Shrubs  and  hedges  had 
also  been  planted,  but  their  slight 
size  and  the  lack  of  landscaping 
around  the  Administration  Build- 
ing seem  accentuated  by  potted 
palms  and  other  movable  shrub- 
bery placed  about  the  building 
and  platform  at  regular  intervals 
for  the  ceremonies.  The  view 
from  the  Administration  Building 
was  still  prairie,  and  the  distance 
between  buildings  looks  greater 
than  it  actually  was  because  of 
the  open  spaces. 


The  Opening 


-^  -^  ^ 


inrr 


6.  Interior  of  the  Faculty  Chamber  in  the  Administration  Building.  1912. 


The  Opening 


7.  Approach  to  the  Admmistration  Building  from  Main  Street,  showing  the  Mechanical  Laboratory  on  the  right  and 
new  trees  and  shrubbery  planted  along  the  fence.  October  12.  19 12. 


The  Opening 


Unfinished  buildings  and 
grounds  did  not  deter  either  the 
speakers  or  the  academic  pro- 
cession. Even  the  weather  cooper- 
ated to  welcome  the  new  Insti- 
tute with  benevolence.  Thursday 
and  Friday  were  warm,  with  the 
temperature  about  ninety  de- 
grees; but  a  breeze  helped  cool 
the  visitors.  Evening  tempera- 
tures in  the  low  seventies  made 
the  days  bearable.  Saturday  morn- 
ing's procession  also  had  a  breeze 


to  help  it  along,  and  in  the  photo- 
graphs some  of  the  delegates  ap- 
pear to  be  in  full  sail  as  they 
approach  the  Administration 
Building." 

On  Sunday  afternoon  the  dele- 
gates, guests,  and  other  partici- 
pants began  their  trip  home, 
leaving  the  institution  of  higher 
learning  to  the  members  of  its 
faculty,  who  had  been  much  in 
evidence  at  the  exercises,  and  to 
its  first  students,  who  had  not.'° 


Indeed,  delegates  outnumbered 
the  stalwart  little  band  of  young 
men  and  women  who  came  to 
the  untried  school;  those  guests 
probably  thought  that  the  adven- 
ture in  Texas  was  over.  But  that 
did  not  matter.  The  president, 
faculty,  and  students  would  have 
the  real  adventure — beginning 
the  William  M.  Rice  Institute. 


CHAPTER      2 


The  Beginnings 


The  Rice  Institute  had  an  event- 
ful beginning  by  any  definition. 
Its  story  opened  with  Wilham 
Marsh  Rice — Massachusetts- 
born  merchant,  cotton  trader, 
businessman — who  had  made  a 
great  deal  of  money  in  Texas. 
Rice  was  interested  in  education 
(his  father's  interest  in  it  may 
have  influenced  him)  and  in 
somehow  returning  part  of  his 
wealth  to  society.  By  1880,  at  the 
age  of  sixty-three,  he  was  consid- 
ering the  establishment  of  some 
philanthropic  enterprise  to  be  the 
beneficiary  of  his  millions.  His 
first  wife,  Margaret  Bremond 
Rice,  had  died  in  1863,  and  in 
1867  Rice  had  married  a  young 
widow,  Julia  Elizabeth  Baldwin 
Brown.  Both  marriages  were 
childless.  Influenced  by  the  ex- 
ample of  Stephen  Girard  (who 
had  established  Girard  College  in 
Philadelphia)  and  Peter  Cooper 
(of  Cooper  Union  for  the  Ad- 
vancement of  Science  and  Art  in 
New  York  City),  Rice  first  in- 
tended to  build  an  orphans'  insti- 
tute in  Somerset  County,  New 


Jersey.  In  1882  he  made  a  will 
leaving  the  bulk  of  his  estate  to 
such  an  institution,  hoping  that 
he  might  help  those  without 
family  or  influence  to  secure 
training  for  a  skilled  job. 

Before  the  orphans'  home  was 
set  up,  however.  Rice  changed  his 
mind.  While  in  Houston  on  busi- 
ness in  1886  or  1887,  Rice  visited 
his  old  friend  Cesar  M.  Lombardi, 
who  was  president  of  the  Hous- 
ton School  Board.  Lombardi  was 
looking  for  money  with  which  to 
build  a  municipal  high  school. 
Since  Rice  had  made  a  large  part 
of  his  fortune  in  Houston,  Lom- 
bardi suggested  that  Rice  leave 
some  of  it  to  the  city  in  the  form 
of  a  school.  Rice  made  no  imme- 
diate decision,  but  by  the  spring 
of  1891,  he  had  decided  what  he 
would  do  with  his  money.  He  in- 
formed Lombardi  that  he  wanted 
to  endow  an  "institution  of  learn- 
ing" similar  to  Cooper  Union  but 
separate  from  the  public  school 
system,  to  be  called  the  William 
M.  Rice  Institute  of  Literature, 
Science  and  Art.  Provisions  were 


to  be  made  for  financing,  includ- 
ing a  $200,000  note  to  be  held  as 
endowment;  but  beyond  that 
Rice  did  not  want  anything  to  be 
done  during  his  lifetime  toward 
the  establishment  of  the 
Institute.' 

On  May  13,  1891,  Rice  and  the 
six  trustees  whom  he  had  picked 
signed  a  deed  of  indenture  for  "a 
Public  Library  and  Institute  for 
the  Advancement  of  Literature, 
Science  and  Art."  On  May  19  the 
charter  for  the  William  M.  Rice 
Institute  was  registered  in  Aus- 
tin, and  the  deed  of  indenture 
was  included  in  the  charter.  The 
six  trustees  were  Lombardi; 
Emanuel  Raphael,  president  of 
the  Houston  Electric  Light  and 
Power  Company  and  trustee  of 
the  Houston  public  school  sys- 
tem; Rice's  brother  Frederick,  a 
banker  and  treasurer  of  the  Hous- 
ton and  Texas  Central  Railroad; 
James  E.  McAshan,  a  banker;  Al- 
fred S.  Richardson,  a  director  of 
the  Houston  and  Texas  Central 
Railroad;  and  James  A.  Baker,  Jr., 
Rice's  attorney. 


The  Beginnings 


8.  William  Marsh  Rice  as  an  older  man.  This  engraving  was  the  frontispiece 
of  B.  H.  Carroll's  Standard  History  of  Houston,  Texas  IKnoxviUe.  Tenn.: 
H.  W.  Crew  ei>  Co..  19 12}. 


In  1892  Rice  drew  up  four 
deeds  of  gift  with  his  second  wife 
Ehzabeth  as  cosigner  and  gave 
the  recently  incorporated  histi- 
tute  a  sizable  amount  of  land  in 
several  parcels.  The  most  impor- 
tant for  the  school  would  be  al- 
most 50,000  acres  of  timberland 
in  Beauregard  Parish,  Louisiana. 
The  Institute  also  received  nearly 
10,000  acres  in  lones  County, 
Texas,  seven  acres  in  Houston 
fronting  on  Louisiana  Street 
(listed  in  the  deed  as  "Site  of  the 
Institute"),  and  the  Capitol  Hotel 
at  Main  Street  and  Texas  Avenue. 
After  his  second  wife's  death  in 
1896,  Rice  made  a  new  will  leav- 
ing the  bulk  of  his  estate  to  the 
Institute. 

From  1896  to  1904  the  pro- 
posed endowment  of  the  Institute 
was  in  jeopardy.  Mrs.  Rice  died  in 
Houston  on  luly  24,  1896,  having 
made  an  extraordinary  will  on 
her  deathbed  without  her  hus- 
band's knowledge,  disposing  of 
one-half  of  all  assets  acquired  by 
Mr.  Rice  during  their  marriage. 
This  will  included  a  repudiation 
of  the  deeds  for  the  Institute,  and 
it  named  as  executor  Houston  at- 
torney Orren  Holt,  the  husband 
of  a  woman  who  had  attended 
Mrs.  Rice  constantly  in  her  last 
illness.  Mrs.  Rice's  will  was  in 
accordance  with  Texas  commu- 
nity property  laws;  but  since  the 
Rices  were  not  actually  Texas 
residents  at  the  time,  William 
Marsh  Rice  was  confident  that 
the  will  was  not  valid.  He  con- 
tested it.  The  case  had  not  yet 
been  resolved  when  on  Septem- 
ber 23,  1900,  Rice  himself  died 
under  mysterious  circumstances 
in  New  York  City.  To  the  con- 


The  Beginnings 


13 


sternation  of  James  A.  Baker,  Jr., 
and  the  other  Institute  trustees, 
one  Albert  T.  Patrick,  lawyer  and 
colleague  of  Orren  Holt,  materi- 
alized with  a  new  will  purporting 
to  supersede  Mr.  Rice's  will  of 
1896.  Patrick  also  produced  a 
general  assignment  under  which 
he  assumed  control  of  all  of 
Rice's  property.  Under  the  new 
documents  the  Institute  would 
get  nothing. 

Baker  rushed  to  New  York  and, 
with  Rice's  New  York  lawyers 
and  the  cooperation  of  the  dis- 
trict attorney's  office,  inves- 
tigated the  sudden  death  and 
suspect  legal  instruments.  As  a 
result  Patrick  and  Rice's  young 
valet,  Charles  Jones,  were  in- 
dicted on  October  4,  1900,  for 
forgery  of  the  will  and  other  doc- 
uments. Soon  after  that  the  coro- 
ner reported  that  he  had  found  a 
fatal  quantity  of  bichloride  of 
mercury  in  Rice's  vital  organs. 

The  manservant  Jones  con- 
fessed that  he  and  Patrick  had 
murdered  the  elderly  gentleman. 
Jones  claimed  that  Patrick  had 
held  a  towel  containing  chlo- 
roform over  Rice's  nose  and 
mouth  until  he  had  ceased  to 
breathe.  In  addition,  he  admitted 
that  the  two  of  them  had  been 
administering  mercury  pills  to 
Rice  before  the  successful  mur- 
der. After  this  confession  Jones 
twice  tried  to  commit  suicide  in 
prison  and  was  confined  to  Belle- 
vue  Hospital.  Patrick,  who  had 
been  released  on  bail  from  the 
forgery  charge,  was  arrested  again 
in  March  1901  and  charged  with 
the  murder  of  William  M.  Rice. 
A  sensational  trial  followed,  dur- 
ing which  Jones  admitted  that  he 


t-^'.",    ai'.l  s  .::-i  i- '.'•  t,  1  on   <i-.-jii   enure   t '-   "..  .e    ■^  .i  I  .\.>-=— "-T.    "'-,- 
"l°v«i".t:T:   I  gl-e,    ievi'-o  -jr.  1  i-^queaii  n  Albe-t.   "".   ?h- 

t.'i'Jr-.,     T'ly.".-'.-/    '.-     ■'.=!-'.T-.     ".T"    0'    '.■<"•'    YO""'.,     Ill     •■;<=    ""■'Z 

ar.  1  ""-:1  ■..•=■    ji"  ny  e^znl",    ^^hI,    ye"-?  jnal   ar.l  mixed,    :-.<:-•:-*.•:)- 

1:1  "^3S'^I.-:.V.y  vrErs;.  ,    1,    tie   -^ald  Wl^llai  -l.   S:::e, 
Zo   ".  il^  '■\y  ',9^t   ■•■■11:    HT.'i  T»!?ta"iBnt,    ha"=  Buh'-rlVe  ;  r.y 
ni'ie   -jnd  arflxe  1   ly  •j-'hI   In  t  he  p'-esenc;  of    .^/i<^^^.,.^.^-3 

a'5   Tui^-'^'^lMn;  wltn<>'?';»  =  ,    w>io  9l?7i  the   "3Tne  a"!   ^ui?'""!^;.;:;; 

v/ltne^ise^  at  !ny  "eque-;!,    in  ray  presenile   ar.rl  Ir   z\v-   n-»-eop".-e 

o"  eac'n  ot  i"-  t>ils  JHS    day  of     it(--<_f-<_-— "  ,   A.   0.   nineteen 
hundred   (19:0  ).                            f^ 


Si.^r.o-I,    seale"".,   p'-''" --'■  i"  1  ^inl  decla'^ed  by  tie   ■''-ild 
V/l,.iiur.i  ;.i.    T;i,;e,    v,    'rr~  an1  t3  be    ii<;    lu^it   Will   and  Te<?ta- 
.■•i--:"t,    in  ou'^  p^e<!e'l'^e,    i.^.d  we,    at   r.i'-  request   and  In  iit  = 
p-.'-on^"    !)ni  In   t'l" 
sli:-"=.l  ou'"  n-i'ios   •1'?   witre^'^es  t..is     ■3''''     day    yf 


I"*   of  eao"".   ot'ie",    have   h'='^eiinto 


IST^  ), 


9.  The  iflst  page  of  the  will  forged  by  Albert  T.  Patrick  in  William  Marsh 
Rice's  name.  This  document  was  later  discredited. 


u 


The  Beginnings 


had  actually  admmistcrcd  the 
chloroform  at  Patrick's  sugges- 
tion. Patrick  was  convicted  of  re- 
sponsibility for  planning  the  deed 
and  was  sentenced  to  die.  (The 
sentence  was  commuted  to  life 
imprisonment,  and  Patrick  was 
pardoned  in  1912.)  Jones,  who 
had  given  evidence,  was  set  free 
and  allowed  to  return  to  Texas, 
where  he  committed  suicide  in 

I9S4-' 

Even  after  the  fraudulent  Pat- 
rick will  had  been  discredited. 
Baker  had  to  worry  about  Eliza- 
beth Rice's  last  testament.  Her 
executor  Orren  Holt  knew  that 
there  was  little  chance  of  proving 
his  claims  of  Texas  residence  in 
court  in  light  of  all  the  informa- 
tion that  had  surfaced  in  the  Pat- 
rick trial.  He  eventually  settled 
out  of  court  with  Baker  and  the 
other  executors  for  $200,000  for 
Mrs.  Rice's  legatees.  Lawyers' 
fees,  executors'  commissions, 
and  Rice's  own  bequests  to  his 
relatives  took  more  than  a  mil- 
lion dollars  out  of  the  estate  as 
well;  but  when  matters  were 
settled  in  1904,  the  Institute 
had  a  beginning  endowment  of 
$4,631,259.08.' 

The  Board  of  Trustees 

The  original  members  of  the  In- 
stitute's Board  of  Trustees  were 
William  M.  Rice's  friends,  and  all 
were  prominent  in  Houston  af- 
fairs. They  were  an  interesting 
group  of  men.  The  chairman  of 
the  board  was  James  Addison 
Baker,  Jr.,  a  lawyer  with  his  fa- 
ther's firm  of  Baker,  Botts,  & 
Baker,  known  to  most  people  as 


10.  First  Board  of  Trustees  of  the  Rice  Institute,  191 1.  Back  row,  left  to  right: 
Benjamin  Botts  Rice,  Edgar  Odell  Lovett,  Emanuel  Raphael.  William  Marsh 
Rice,  fr.  Front  row:  fames  Everett  McAshan.  Cesar  Maurice  Lombardi,  fames 
Addision  Baker,  fr. 


"Captain  Baker"  because  of  his 
captaincy  of  the  Houston  Light 
Guard,  a  drill  team  and  social 
association.  Baker  had  graduated 
from  the  Texas  Military  Acad- 
emy but  never  attended  college. 
He  had  been  chairman  of  the 
Rice  Board  of  Trustees  at  Rice's 
request  since  1891  and  would 
continue  to  serve  as  chairman 
until  his  own  death  in  1941.  His 
quick  action  at  the  time  of  Rice's 
murder  had  in  large  measure 
saved  the  endowment.  A  busi- 
nessman as  well  as  a  lawyer. 
Baker  was  also  a  director  of  the 
Merchants  and  Planters  Oil  Com- 
pany, the  Houston  Gas  and  Light 
Company,  the  Guardian  Trust 
Company,  and  the  South  Texas 
Commercial  National  Bank." 


The  first  secretary  of  the  board 
was  Emanuel  Raphael.  In  addi- 
tion to  being  president  of  the 
Houston  Electric  Light  and 
Power  Company,  he  was  presi- 
dent of  the  Southern  Bridge  and 
Construction  Company  and  an 
organizer  of  the  Houston  Clear- 
ing House  Association.  Swiss- 
born  Cesar  M.  Lombardi  had 
been  associated  with  William  D. 
Cleveland  and  Company,  whole- 
sale grocers  and  cotton  factors, 
until  1899  when  he  moved  to 
Portland,  Oregon.  Lombardi  re- 
turned to  Texas  in  1907  as  vice- 
president  and  acting  president  of 
the  A.  H.  Belo  Company,  pub- 
lishers of  the  Dallas  News  and 
the  Galveston  News.  Although 
the  charter  specified  that  the 


The  Beginnings 


15 


trustees  should  be  residents  of 
Houston,  that  provision  was  not 
apphed  to  the  original  group. 
Lombardi  remained  an  active 
member  of  the  board  while  living 
in  Dallas,  lames  E.  McAshan,  in 
the  bankmg  business  since  his 
youth,  was  one  of  the  organiz- 
ers and  a  charter  director  of  the 
South  Texas  National  Bank, 
which  later  merged  with  the 
Commercial  National  Bank  to 
become  the  South  Texas  Com- 
mercial National  Bank,  with 
which  Baker  was  affiliated.  Mc- 
Ashan was  also  connected  with 
the  Union  Compress  and  Ware- 
house Company  and  the  Ameri- 
can Surety  Company  of  New 
York.  At  the  time  of  his  death  in 
1916  he  was  vice-chairman  of  the 
Institute's  board."  In  addition  to 
his  directorship  of  the  Houston 
and  Texas  Central  Railroad,  Al- 
fred S.  Richardson  had  been  city 
secretary  of  Houston.  After  Rich- 
ardson's death  in  1899,  the  board 
appointed  a  nephew  of  the 
founder,  William  M.  Rice,  Ir.,  to 
Richardson's  place.  (Rice  the 
founder  had  very  much  wanted 
this  nephew  on  the  board  in  the 
first  available  vacant  position.) 
The  founder's  namesake  was  a  di- 
rector of  the  Union  National 
Bank,  the  Guardian  Trust  Com- 
pany, and  the  Houston  Land  and 
Trust  Company  and  was  presi- 
dent of  the  Merchants  and  Plant- 
ers Oil  Company.  After  the 
founder's  murder  in  1900,  the 
board  had  appointed  another 
nephew,  Benjamin  Botts  Rice,  to 
take  his  place.  This  third  Rice 
was  president  of  the  Rice  Land 
Lumber  Company,  vice-president 
and  general  manager  of  the  Mer- 


chants and  Planters  Oil  Com- 
pany, and  vice-president  of  the 
Grant  Locomotive  Works.  When 
original  member  of  the  board 
Frederick  Allyn  Rice  (brother  of 
the  founder)  died  in  1901,  the 
board  left  his  position  open.*^ 

The  Board  of  Trustees,  as  es- 
tablished by  the  charter,  was  a 
self-perpetuating  group  of  seven 
members.  After  the  estate  was 
settled,  full  control  and  manage- 
ment of  the  endowment  passed 
to  the  hands  of  these  men.  The 
trustees  continued  to  have  the 
final  decision-making  power  over 
the  Institute  and  the  endowment 
and  its  increase.  They  were  not, 
however,  without  limitations  on 
their  actions;  William  M.  Rice 
was  too  shrewd  a  businessman 
not  to  protect  his  investments. 
The  Institute  was  subject  to  vis- 
itation by  any  court  to  prevent 
and  redress  "any  mismanage- 
ment, waste,  or  breach  of  trust." 
Furthermore,  the  trustees  were 
forbidden  to  go  into  debt  with  In- 
stitute funds.  For  all  their  work 
the  trustees  were  to  receive  no 
salary  or  other  compensation.^ 

Much  of  the  endowment  as  re- 
ceived in  1904  consisted  of  rail- 
road, city,  and  miscellaneous 
bonds,  and  bank,  trust  company, 
and  other  stocks.  There  were  also 
about  $370,000  in  promissory 
notes.  The  trustees  made  changes 
in  some  of  these  investments  and 
organized  the  Rice  Land  Lumber 
Company  to  handle  the  Louisi- 
ana holdings.  By  judicious  invest- 
ment, mostly  in  bonds,  first 
mortgage  notes,  and  stocks,  the 
trustees  increased  the  endow- 
ment to  more  than  $7  million  by 
19 ID,  with  gross  revenues  per  an- 


num in  excess  of  $200,000  and 
net  revenues  of  more  than 
$140,000.' 

Defining  the  Institute 

Once  the  trustees  felt  that  the 
endowment  was  prudently  in- 
vested, they  could  turn  to  their 
primary  purpose:  establishment 
of  the  Rice  Institute.  The  charter 
was  both  explicit  and  vague.  It  di- 
rected the  establishment  and 
maintenance  of  "a  Public  Library, 
and  the  maintenance  of  an  In- 
stitution for  the  Advancement  of 
Literature,  Science,  Art,  Philoso- 
phy and  Letters;  and  establish- 
ment and  maintenance  of  a  Poly- 
technic school;  for  procuring  and 
maintaining  scientific  collec- 
tions; collections  of  chemical 
and  philosophical  apparatus,  me- 
chanical and  artistic  models, 
drawings,  pictures  and  statues; 
and  for  cultivating  other  means 
of  instruction  for  the  white  in- 
habitants of  the  City  of  Houston, 
and  State  of  Texas."  The  inden- 
ture within  the  charter  further 
stated  that  the  library  and  Insti- 
tute were  to  be  free  and  open  to 
all,"*  that  the  "thorough  poly- 
technic school"  was  to  admit 
women  as  well  as  men,  and  that 
it  should  be  designed  "to  give  in- 
structions on  the  application  of 
science  and  Art  to  the  useful  oc- 
cupations of  life."  Furthermore, 
all  the  subdivisions  were  to  be 
nonsectarian  and  nonpartisan, 
subject  only  to  such  restrictions 
as  the  board  thought  necessary 
to  preserve  the  good  order  and 
honor  of  the  Institute." 

Some  of  the  ideas  inherent  in 


i6 


The  Beginnings 


these  instruetions  can  be  traced 
to  Rice's  interest  in  the  Cooper 
Union  and  Girard  College.  Coop- 
er's school  admitted  female  stu- 
dents and  was  the  first  important 
trade  school  for  women  in  the 
United  States.  Both  Cooper  and 
Girard  wanted  practical  subjects 
taught  at  their  institutions,  and 
both  wanted  to  help  those  who 
could  not  afford  to  help  them- 
selves. Rice  had  never  gone  to 
college,  but  he  had  helped  his 
nephew  William  Marsh  Rice,  Jr., 
finance  his  education  at  Prince- 
ton, an  experience  that  may  also 
have  added  to  his  determination 
to  make  attendance  at  the  Insti- 
tute free.  Girard  had  directed  that 
his  college  be  nonsectarian,  and 
so  had  Rice,  although  Rice  was 
not  as  insistent  on  this  point  as 
Girard  was.  Rice's  reason  for  the 
stipulation  of  nonsectarianism 
may  be  found  in  the  1882  will 
that  would  have  established  an 
orphans'  home: 

All  the  instructors  and  teachers 
shall  take  pains  to  instill  into 
the  minds  of  the  scholars  the 
purest  principles  of  morality  so 
that  on  their  entrance  into  active 
life  they  may  from  inclination 
and  habit  evince  benevolence  to- 
ward their  fellow  creatures  and  a 
love  of  truth,  sobriety  and  indus- 
try, and  I  further  direct  and  re- 
quire that  no  sectarianism  shall 
be  permitted  in  the  Institution, 
so  that  the  pupils  may  be  left 
free  to  adopt  such  religious  views 
as  their  matured  reason  may 
dictate." 

Even  though  as  friends  they 
had  had  many  conversations  with 
the  founder  about  the  Rice  Insti- 


tute, and  though  they  held  writ- 
ten instructions,  the  trustees  still 
had  many  decisions  to  make  in 
order  to  put  Rice's  ideas  into 
practice.  The  major  decision  to 
be  made,  before  almost  anything 
else  could  be  done,  was  exactly 
what  kind  of  school  they  were 
going  to  build.  "We  think,"  trust- 
ees Raphael  and  McAshan  wrote, 
"it  was  the  intention  of  the 
founder  to  give  manual  training, 
applied  science  and  liberal  arts 
preference  in  the  organization.  It 
is  our  desire  to  realize  his  wishes 
if  possible  and  at  the  same  time 
be  affiliated  with  the  school  sys- 
tem of  the  country."  The  bylaws 
for  the  board  adopted  in  190  s 
speak  of  "a  school  for  instruction 
in  the  arts  of  design,  and  in  such 
other  branches  of  knowledge  as 
in  their  |the  trustees']  judgment 
will  tend  to  the  elevation  and 
employment  of  intelligent  labor." 
Students  were  to  be  amateur  and 
industrial  pupils,  and  the  courses 
they  were  to  take  included  chem- 
istry, physics,  mechanics,  elec- 
tricity, and  mechanical  draw- 
ing. "This  instruction  shall  be 
adapted  to  the  comprehension 
and  improvement  of  the  mechan- 
ics and  mechanic's  apprentices  of 
Houston  and  its  vicinity  being  in- 
tended to  bridge  over  the  gap 
which  now  exists  between  sci- 
ence and  the  practical  occupation 
of  life."- 

Before  making  any  further  de- 
cisions regarding  the  school,  the 
trustees  studied  other  institu- 
tions of  learning.  On  a  trip  east 
in  1906  Raphael  visited  several 
schools  of  technology,  manual 
training,  and  art.  He  investigated 
Girard  College,  Drexel  Institute, 


the  Academy  of  Fine  Arts,  and 
the  Memorial  Hall  and  Museum, 
all  in  Philadelphia,  and  Pratt  In- 
stitute in  Brooklyn.  He  had  seen 
Cooper  Union  on  a  previous 
visit.  On  his  return  to  Houston 
he  wrote  a  report,  and  it  is  clear 
that  Raphael  had  done  a  thor- 
ough job.  He  had  examined  en- 
dowments, revenues,  expendi- 
tures, courses  of  study,  tuition, 
makeup  of  the  student  body, 
types  of  laboratories  and  machine 
shops  and  equipment,  the  size  of 
each  campus,  cost  of  the  build- 
ings, and  the  need  for  dormito- 
ries and  a  gymnasium.  The  re- 
port closed  with  a  plea  to  the 
other  trustees  to  visit  several  of 
these  types  of  schools  themselves 
to  get  "a  much  better  idea  of 
what  our  Institute  ought  to  be." 
Clearly  at  that  time  the  trustees 
had  in  mind  an  institution  more 
along  the  lines  of  Pratt  Institute 
or  Cooper  Union  than  the  univer- 
sity that  they  finally  created." 


The  Search  for  a  President 

It  was  lanuary  1907  before  the 
board  acted  formally  to  find 
someone  to  head  the  school,  al- 
though they  had  been  receiving 
recommendations  since  1905. 
One  man  from  Florida  had  rec- 
ommended himself  and  had  sent 
in  copies  of  seventeen  testimo- 
nials, each  on  a  separate  small 
strip  of  paper.  Of  more  impor- 
tance were  the  recommendations 
for  Arthur  Lefevre,  former  profes- 
sor of  mathematics  at  the  Univer- 
sity of  Texas  and  state  superin- 
tendent for  public  instruction  in 
Texas.  Letters  praising  Lefevre 


The  Beginnings 


17 


came  from  all  over  the  state  and 
from  outside  of  Texas.  The  board, 
however,  preferred  more  order  m 
their  search.  Chairman  Baker  ap- 
pointed Raphael  and  McAshan  to 
compose  a  letter  asking  for  rec- 
ommendations and  to  send  it  to 
the  leading  universities  and  insti- 
tutes m  the  United  States.  Other 
recipients  of  the  letter  were  such 
prominent  Americans  as  The- 
odore Roosevelt,  Grover  Cleve- 
land, and  William  lennings 
Bryan. '^ 

The  letter  inviting  recommen- 
dations gave  some  indication  of 
the  problems  that  the  board  was 
having  both  in  deciding  on  the 
nature  of  the  school  and  finding 
a  "superintendent"  for  it.  The 
only  hard  facts  mentioned  in  the 
letter  were  that  the  school  had 
an  endowment  of  $s  million  or 
more, "that  it  wouTdbe  nonsec- 
tarian  and  nonpolitical,  that  it 
would  have  free  tuition  and  be 
open  to  whites,  and  that  it  would 
be  located  in  Houston.  Other- 
wise, the  trustees  could  speak 
only  in  generalities  about  the 
type  of  institution  they  wanted 
and  ask  for  a  recommendation  of 
the  very  best  man  who  could 
help  make  some  of  the  decisions 
and  hasten  the  work.  "We  need  a 
young  man,  a  broad  man,  and  we 
need  him  at  once."" 

This  method  produced  a  num- 
ber of  prospects,  although  some 
of  the  advisers  echoed  the  trust- 
ees' uncertainty  about  what 
the  Institute  was  to  be.  David  F. 
Houston,  president  of  the  Uni- 
versity of  Texas,  was  anxious  to 
help  but  wrote  that  it  would  aid 
his  recommendation  if  he  knew 
more  definitely  what  the  board 


wanted — an  institute  like  Drexel 
or  Girard,  a  technical  college 
like  the  Massachusetts  Institute 
of  Technology,  or  a  combina- 
tion like  Cornell.  J.  E.  Pursons 
of  Cooper  Union  answered  the 
query  with  the  news  that  his  in- 
stitution was  also  looking  for  its 
own  president  and  so  could  not 
help.'" 

The  board  wrote  to  twenty-five 
individuals  and  institutions  and 
compiled  a  list  of  thirty-nine 
names,  from  which  it  appears 
that  four  were  chosen  for  closer 
scrutiny.  Albert  Ross  Hill,  dean 
of  the  Teachers  College  at  Mis- 
souri State  University,  had  been 
recommended  by  both  President 
David  Starr  Jordan  of  Stanford 
and  President  Jacob  Gould  Schur- 
man  of  Cornell.  Howard  Mc- 
Clenahan,  professor  of  electrical 
engineering  at  Princeton,  was 
Grover  Cleveland's  suggestion. 
President  Henry  S.  Pritchett  of 
the  Boston  School  of  Technology 
had  recommended  Charles  R. 
Richards  of  Columbia.  And  Edgar 
Odell  Lovett,  professor  of  mathe- 
matics at  Princeton,  had  been 
recommended  by  Woodrow  Wil- 
son, president  of  that  university."' 

In  the  early  stages  of  the 
search.  Hill  was  the  most  favored 
candidate  and  McClenahan  sec- 
ond. Raphael  went  to  Missouri  to 
see  Hill  and  returned  much  im- 
pressed by  him.  Only  thirty- 
eight,  Hill  had  had  considerable 
experience  in  university  admin- 
istration and  was  at  that  time  in 
charge  of  the  administrative  work 
of  his  institution.  He  was  in  line 
for  the  presidency  of  Missouri 
State  and  could  expect  a  salary  of 
$6,000  a  year.  Raphael  liked  the 


recommendations.  Hill's  present 
work,  his  youth,  his  ambition. 
Hill  said  that  he  was  willing  to 
visit  Houston  before  accepting 
the  position  at  the  Institute, 
"(provided  that  position  were 
tendered  to  him  at  $6,000  per  an- 
num, including  a  home),"  so  that 
both  board  and  prospect  could 
know  each  other  before  further 
steps  were  taken." 

Through  Grover  Cleveland  the 
board  communicated  with  Mc- 
Clenahan, who  wanted  to  know 
what  the  salary  would  be  before 
committing  himself  in  any  way. 
The  question  of  salary  had  proba- 
bly already  come  up  with  the 
board.  President  Houston  from 
the  University  of  Texas  had  men- 
tioned in  his  letter  that  it  would 
be  difficult  to  get  "one  of  the 
really  strong,  sane  educators" 
from  out  of  state  for  less  than 
$5,000  or  $6,000  and  a  house. 
The  board  told  McClenahan  that 
compensation  would  be  "$6,000 
per  annum  and  dwelling  free.'"" 

Certainly  none  of  the  four 
seemed  eager  to  become  the  first 
president  of  the  Rice  Institute. 
Hill  was  interested  but  wrote 
that  the  main  defect  he  saw  in 
the  charter  was  the  provision  for 
free  tuition.  McClenahan  had 
reservations  about  the  salary  be- 
cause he  was  "so  totally  ignorant 
of  the  character  of  the  Institute 
and  of  the  work  involved."  He 
was  willing,  however,  to  hold  the 
matter  of  compensation  in  abey- 
ance until  he  and  the  board  had 
time  to  learn  about  each  other.  In 
spite  of  his  reservations  Mc- 
Clenahan was  enthusiastic  about 
the  possibilities  as  he  imagined 
them.  "My  mind  glows  when  I 


i8 


The  Beginnings 


think  of  the  ennrmous  amcnint 
such  an  instituticm  may  be  made 
to  do  for  the  further  development 
of  the  whole  great  Southwest." 
The  board  mvited  both  Hill  and 
McClenahan  to  come  to  Hous- 
ton. They  also  invited  Richards 
and  Lovett;  but  in  the  case  of 
these  latter  two,  there  seems 
to  have  been  little  preliminary 
correspondence." 

Hill  came  to  Houston  on 
March  i8,  McClenahan  on  April 
8,  Lovett  on  April  1 1,  and  Rich- 
ards on  April  22.  Edgar  Odell 
Lovett  wrote  an  account  of  his 
experiences,  which  were  probably 
similar  to  the  other  candidates'. 
He  was  shown  around  the  city 
and  taken  to  see  several  possible 
sites  for  the  Institute.  The  trust- 
ees were  obviously  not  convinced 
of  the  desirability  of  the  location 
on  Louisiana  Street,  which  had 
been  designated  as  the  school  site 
by  William  Marsh  Rice.  The 
trustees  and  presidential  candi- 
dates looked  at  the  Louisiana 
Street  lot,  the  old  Rice  ranch  in 
what  is  now  Bellaire,  a  wooded 
site  "down  the  channel,"  and 
another  location  far  out  Main 
Street.  That  night  Lovett  and  the 
board  had  an  intensive  discus- 
sion. Lovett  reported  later  that 
the  trustees'  examination  "was 
the  most  trying  ordeal  I  have  as 
yet  passed  through.  Question 
after  question  about  things  I 
knew  nothing  about  and  had 
never  thought  out.'"' 

Choosing  a  president  was  not 
an  easy  task,  and  Lovett  had  great 
sympathy  for  the  members  of 
the  board.  "They  were  successful 
men  of  business,  and  facing  as 
difficult  a  problem  in  trying  to 


select  a  college  president  as  a 
group  of  college  professors  would 
be  if  they  had  to  set  about  to  find 
a  railroad  president.  Indeed  I 
think  the  chances  might  have 
been  in  favor  of  the  college  pro- 
fessors' group.'"' 

The  trustees'  examination  elic- 
ited a  number  of  opinions  from 
Lovett  that  he  thought  signifi- 
cant. He  thought  it  would  be  well 
to  build  and  maintain  the  Insti- 
tute out  of  the  income  from  the 
endowment  alone.  He  anticipated 
a  fall  in  interest  rates  and  related 
that  Princeton  funds  were  being 
invested  in  local  enterprises. 
Concerning  the  site,  Lovett  advo- 
cated an  extensive  area  outside 
the  city  on  the  side  to  which  in- 
dustries would  never  come:  he 
liked  the  Main  Street  location. 
He  also  spoke  of  the  necessity  of 
developing  a  comprehensive  ar- 
chitectural plan  before  breaking 
ground  for  any  buildings.  On  the 
salary  question,  he  thought  it 
would  take  $10,000  to  get  the 
right  man.  Finally  he  said  that 
the  trustees  ought  to  get  Wood- 
row  Wilson  to  do  the  job.'' 

There  was  one  other  problem 
that  the  board  might  not  have  no- 
ticed but  that  spoke  volumes  to 
academics:  the  matter  of  the 
word  "institute."  "The  very  des- 
ignation 'institute',  if  it  did  not 
mean  a  female  seminary,  or  one 
for  defectives,  or  one  for  the  col- 
ored race,  meant  an  institute  of 
technology,"  Lovett  wrote  in 
1944.  "There  was  some  hint  of 
this  that  night,  so  I  told  them 
that  I  could  not  be  a  party  for  any 
such  undertaking  that  would  not 
assure  as  large  a  place  for  pure 
science  as  for  applied  science.  It 


was  an  entering  wedge  away  from 
technology  and  towards  the  uni- 
versity idea.  I  have  always  thought 
It  bore  fruit  in  the  future. "- 

When  he  got  back  to  Missouri, 
A.  Ross  Hill  had  some  second 
thoughts  about  the  situation  in 
Houston.  He  wrote  Raphael  on 
March  25  that  he  thought  the 
board  had  "a  fine  opportunity  to 
either  make  a  great  success  or  a 
stupendous  failure  in  administer- 
ing Its  affairs."  Eleven  days  later 
he  asked  to  be  removed  from 
consideration.' 

Other  advisers  whom  the  board 
consulted  included  Arthur  Le- 
fevre,  R.  S.  Heyer  of  Georgetown, 
Texas,  President  Houston  from 
Austin,  President  H.  H.  Har- 
rington of  the  Agricultural  and 
Mechanical  College  of  Texas 
(Texas  A(SvMl,  Dr.  A.  E.  Turner  of 
Trinity  University  in  Waxa- 
hachie,  and  Professor  I.  H.  Dil- 
lard  of  Tulane.  The  visits  con- 
tinued into  lune  and  did  not  go 
unnoticed.  The  Houston  Post  re- 
ported the  comings  and  goings, 
and  Its  editor  expressed  his  plea- 
sure that  the  Rice  board  was  tak- 
ing action  to  appoint  a  president 
and  organize  the  Institute." 

After  all  their  haste  in  securing 
recommendations,  choosing  can- 
didates, and  arranging  visits,  the 
trustees  made  no  decision  until 
November,  although  the  board 
minutes  indicate  no  reason  for 
this  delay.  Then  at  the  regular 
meeting  of  November  20,  1907, 
the  trustees  unanimously  elected 
Edgar  Odell  Lovett  as  their  choice 
for  the  first  president  of  the  Rice 
Institute.  William  M.  Rice,  Ir., 
was  appointed  to  go  to  Prince- 
ton and  call  Dr.  Lovett  "to  take 


The  Beginnings 


19 


charge  as  educational  head  of  the 
Institute";  Rice  was  empowered 
to  offer  a  salary  of  up  to  $7,500 
and  a  contract  for  five  years.'" 

Rice  went  to  Princeton  and  re- 
turned to  report  to  the  board  on 
December  18.  Lovett,  he  stated, 
could  not  say  at  that  time  whether 
he  would  accept  or  not,  as  he  had 
just  started  a  new  project.  When 
Lovett  indicated  that  the  $6,000 
that  Rice  had  tendered  was  insuf- 
ficient. Rice  had  offered  $7,000 
and  a  home.  Although  Lovett  was 
not  particular  about  a  contract, 
he  could  not  seem  to  come  to  a 
decision;  Rice  finally  suggested 
that  Lovett  take  thirty  days  to  de- 
cline or  accept  the  offer.'" 

To  help  persuade  Lovett  to 
come,  chairman  Baker  wrote  a 
strong  letter  the  next  day.  Baker 
expressed  his  disappointment 
that  Lovett  had  not  given  them  a 
definite  answer  and  wrote  "to 
urge  upon  you  to  cast  your  lot 
with  us."  The  trustees  had  pro- 
ceeded quite  deliberately  in  mak- 
ing a  selection.  Baker  said.  They 
had  talked  to  many  people  from 
Texas  and  elsewhere  in  the  search, 
but  the  position  had  been  offered 
to  no  one  except  Lovett.  Lovett 
had  made  a  fine  impression  upon 
the  trustees;  they  liked  his  man- 
ner and  his  candor,  and  they  be- 
lieved him  to  be  eminently  quali- 
fied for  the  presidency. 

One  paragraph  presented  the 
real  selling  point. 

Our  institution  is  well  en- 
dowed— n7ore  so  than  any  in- 
stitution I  know  of  in  the  South; 
the  Trustees  are  practically  with- 
out any  experience  in  educa- 
tional matters  and  they  will  be 
disposed  to  give  you  a  very  free 


hand.  As  a  rule  they  are  broad 
minded  and  liberal,  and  desire 
m  establishing  the  new  institu- 
tion to  lay  its  foundations  broad 
and  deep,  and  to  employ  at  all 
times  the  best  talent  that  can  be 
had  anywhere.  The  opportunity 
offered  you  is  an  unusual  one, 
and  however  promising  may  be 
your  prospects  at  Princeton, 
you  ought  to  be  slow  in  declin- 
ing. Such  an  opportunity  rarely 
comes  to  one  so  young  in  life 
[Lovett  was  thirty-six).-' 

Raphael  added  his  inducements 
a  couple  of  days  later  and  indi- 
cated certain  decisions  that  the 
board  had  made  in  the  past  year. 
He  said  that  the  board  had  agreed 
that  Lovett  would  not  be  called 
upon  to  teach;  filling  the  position 
of  president  with  its  executive 
duties  would  be  sufficient  ser- 
vice. The  trustees  also  agreed 
with  Lovett  that  the  faculty 
should  be  "high  class  men,  nomi- 
nated by  yourself,  because  it  is 
our  express  aim  to  make  the 
Wm.  M.  Rice  Institute  a  high 
class  institution  patterned — in 
great  measure — after  the  Mas- 
sachusetts School  [sic]  of  Tech- 
nology." More  important,  the 
board  was  "free  and  untrammeled 
to  make  our  institute  as  broad 
and  as  progressive  as  the  heart  of 
any  ambitious  educator  could  de- 
sire." Raphael  called  Lovett  to  be 
the  leader  of  an  institution  that 
(quoting  Lovett's  own  words  back 
to  him)  "shall  contribute  power- 
fully to  the  sustaining  sources  of 
the  life  of  the  nation — where  by 
the  Nation  I  mean  the  life,  the 
thought,  the  conscience,  the  au- 
thority, of  all  the  people  of  all 
the  land.  .  .  .  Can  you  imagine 


that  any  work  appeals  to  you 
more  powerfully  than  this  great 
work  in  our  Southland? "'- 

About  the  same  time,  Lovett 
wrote  William  Rice,  Jr.,  that  he 
did  want  to  come  to  the  Institute. 
He  had  seen  Woodrow  Wilson, 
Rice's  old  classmate  from  Prince- 
ton, and  discussed  when  he  could 
leave  the  university.  Wilson  had 
asked  him  to  hold  his  professor- 
ship until  the  end  of  that  aca- 
demic year  but  said  he  could  drop 
his  duties  in  February  and  come 
to  Houston  in  March.  The  only 
problem  that  Lovett  saw  was  in 
the  matter  of  salary.  He  wanted 
$8,000  and  a  house.  He  said  he 
had  not  been  able,  while  Rice 
was  there,  to  think  clearly  about 
salary  and  was  unwilling  "to 
seem  to  hold  up  an  honest  man 
in  my  own  house."" 

The  board  read  and  discussed 
Lovett's  letter  on  December  28, 
and  they  unanimously  accepted 
his  terms.  Raphael  sent  Lovett  a 
telegram  followed  by  a  letter  an- 
nouncing his  official  election  as 
the  educational  head  of  the  Rice 
Institute.  Since  Lovett  had  not 
particularly  wanted  a  five-year 
contract  as  originally  offered  and 
had  not  mentioned  it  in  his  ac- 
ceptance letter,  a  contract  was 
not  part  of  the  terms." 

Lovett's  informal  reply  on  Jan- 
uary 2,  1908,  indicated  his  en- 
thusiasm. He  wrote  that  he  was 
"almost  arrogant  in  my  hopeful- 
ness. I  believe  that  we  are  go- 
ing to  have  the  patience  and  the 
power  to  do  the  thing  right,  and 
by  all  the  demons  dancing  in  the 
Dog-star  we  will  make  the  thing 
go."  His  formal  reply  on  January 
18  expressed  his  delight  more  so- 
berly but  nonetheless  powerfully. 


The  Rcginnings 


He  pledged  his  strength  and 
training  to  the  task  and  was  rely- 
ing confidently  on  the  coopera- 
tion of  all  friends  of  education  in 
Texas.  He  had  a  large  vision  of 
purpose  for  the  Institute; 

I  promise  to  serve  The  Rice  Insti- 
tute of  Houston  in  patiently- 
seeking  with  them  (the  trustees] 
the  lines  of  its  development;  in 
persistently  pressing  with  them 
the  plans  for  its  usefulness;  in 
striving  with  their  help  to  com- 
bine in  its  personality  those  ele- 
ments— largeness  of  mind, 
strength  of  character,  determined 
purpose,  fire  of  genius,  devoted 
loyalty — which  make  for  leader- 
ship in  institutions  as  in  men;  in 
blazing  with  the  brands  and 
torches  they  shall  hand  me  a 
trail  down  which  we  may  hope 
to  find  a  time  when  from  its 
walls  shall  go  forth  a  continuous 
column  of  men  trained  in  the 
highest  degree,  equipped  in  the 
largest  way,  for  positions  of  trust 
in  the  public  service,  for  com- 
manding careers  in  the  affairs  of 
the  world.'' 

The  Rice  Institute  had  its  first 
president. 


Edgar  Odell  Lovett 

Edgar  Odell  Lovett  was  born  in 
Shreve,  Ohio,  on  April  14,  1871. 
At  the  age  of  fifteen  he  enrolled 
at  Bethany  College  in  West  Vir- 
ginia, a  school  of  the  Christian 
Church,  to  which  his  parents  be- 
longed. (They  had  hesitated  to 
send  him  so  young  to  one  of  the 
bigger  universities.)  He  graduated 
in  1890  from  Bethany  with  a 


II.  The  first  president  of  the  WiHicim  Marsh  Rice  histitute.  Edfiar  Odell 
Lovett,  igii. 


The  Beginnings 


Bachelor  of  Arts  degree  and  by 
1892  had  both  Bachelor  of  Sci- 
ence and  Master  of  Arts  degrees. 
While  at  Bethany  Lovett  had 
tutored  in  Greek,  and  he  never 
lost  his  love  of  classical  lit- 
erature. From  1890  to  1892  he 
taught  mathematics  at  West  Ken- 
tucky College,  another  Christian 
Church  school.  Lovett  v^^as  too 
ambitious  and  too  good  in  mathe- 
matics to  stay  in  small,  isolated 
towns,  however,  so  in  1892  he 
went  to  the  University  of  Vir- 
ginia for  graduate  study.  While 
he  was  a  student  there  he  also 
taught  astronomy.  He  graduated 
three  years  later  with  another 
master's  degree  and  a  doctorate. 

In  those  days  a  career  in  math- 
ematics demanded  study  in  Eu- 
rope. From  Virgmia,  Lovett  went 
to  Leipzig  to  study  under  Sophus 
Lie,  one  of  the  leadmg  mathe- 
maticians on  the  continent.  He 
also  attended  lectures  in  Rome 
and  in  Christiania,  Norway,  and 
on  his  way  home  through  France 
he  heard  the  famous  lecturers  of 
that  country.  He  returned  home 
with  two  more  degrees,  another 
M.A.  and  another  Ph.D.  Every 
one  of  his  seven  degrees,  "none  of 
which  I  attach  to  my  name,"  had 
been  taken  with  honors.  With 
Lie's  help  he  secured  positions  at 
both  the  lohns  Hopkins  Univer- 
sity and  the  University  of  Vir- 
ginia for  the  spring  term  in  1897 
and  commuted  between  them 
with  a  pass  on  the  BtkO  Railroad. 
That  summer  he  lectured  at  the 
University  of  Chicago. 

Lovett  was  not  without  offers 
for  the  fall.  Drake  University  had 
him  in  mind  for  its  presidency, 
and  the  University  of  Minnesota 


wanted  him  to  teach  mathemat- 
ics. He  turned  them  both  down 
to  take  an  assistant  professorship 
at  Princeton.  Twenty-six  when  he 
went  to  Princeton,  he  had  already 
published  at  least  six  articles  in 
the  American  Astronomical  Jour- 
nal, Annals  of  Mathematics, 
Astronomische  Nacbrichten,  As- 
tro-Physics, and  the  Bulletin  of 
the  American  Mathematical  So- 
ciety. He  had  also  read  a  number 
of  papers  before  the  Mathemati- 
cal Club  of  the  University  of  Vir- 
ginia and  the  American  Mathe- 
matical Society.  From  all  who 
had  worked  with  him,  he  had 
garnered  high  recommendations 
as  an  excellent  teacher  and  a 
man  of  unspotted  character.  He 
described  himself  then  as  "in 
mathematics  for  the  sake  of  the 
science  and  its  use  as  a  powerful 
educational  implement  and  |I]  en- 
joy text-book  teaching  and  for- 
mal lecturing  equally  well.  I  am 
in  no  hurry  to  settle  and  propose 
to  be  thoroughly  satisfied  that  a 
place  is  the  one  for  me  and  I  the 
man  for  the  place  before  I  attach 
myself  permanently  anywhere." 
In  1897  he  married  Mary  Ellen 
Hale,  who  had  been  a  student  at 
West  Kentucky  College  when  he 
was  teaching  there.'- 

Lovett  rose  quickly  in  the  aca- 
demic hierarchy  at  Princeton.  By 
1900  he  was  a  full  professor,  and 
in  1905  he  succeeded  Charles  A. 
Young  as  professor  of  astronomy. 
Princeton,  however,  was  more 
than  just  a  place  to  work  for  Lov- 
ett. He  made  friends  there,  and 
the  one  he  most  cherished  was 
Woodrow  Wilson.  The  feeling 
was  evidently  reciprocal.  When 
Wilson  told  Lovett  that  he  had 


recommended  him  to  the  trust- 
ees at  Rice,  he  said  that  there  was 
no  one  on  the  faculty  whom  he 
had  counted  on  more  to  remain; 
but  he  felt  bound  to  present  the 
chance  to  the  best  man  and  let 
the  man  decide  for  himself. 
Lovett  had  some  trouble  framing 
his  letter  of  resignation  to  Wil- 
son. 

/  am  leaving  Princeton  a  Prince- 
ton man  firmly  believing  that 
whatever  training  I  may  have 
achieved  here  can  be  devoted  to 
the  interests  of  the  University  in 
no  better  way  than  in  an  effort  to 
bring  to  realization  m  another 
environment  those  spiritual  and 
intellectual  ideals  and  traditions 
which  have  made  Princeton  con- 
spicuous in  the  Nation's  service, 
and  which,  in  terms  of  your  far- 
reaching  plans  for  the  develop- 
ment of  the  University,  are  now 
making  Princeton  the  most  inter- 
esting educational  center  on  the 
continent.  .  .  .  I  am  unwilling  to 
bring  it  [the  letter]  to  a  close 
without  saying  to  you  again  that 
my  roots  here  are  long  and  deep: 
I  cannot  tell  you  how  hard  it  is 
for  me  to  break  them." 

But  break  them  he  did,  and  in 
March  1908  Lovett  arrived  in 
Houston  with  a  number  of  ideas 
for  the  organization  of  the  Rice 
Institute.  He  wanted  to  open  the 
Institute  in  19 10  and  to  hold  two 
formal  ceremonies  connected 
with  the  opening — the  laying  of 
the  cornerstone  of  the  first  build- 
ing and  the  installation  of  the 
first  president.  Local  and  state 
dignitaries  would  be  invited  to 
the  first,  and  for  the  second  the 
guest  list  would  be  increased  to 


The  Beginnings 


inelude  representatives  of  foreign 
and  domestic  universities  and  a 
group  of  distinguished  scholars 
and  scientists  who  would  deliver 
lectures.  The  seeds  of  the  formal 
opening  were  thus  planted  early. 
Lovett  wanted  to  make  the  scope 
of  the  new  institution  broad,  to 
realize  the  full  meaning  of  the 
objectives  as  stated  in  its  title 
and  charter,  not  only  for  the  indi- 
vidual or  society  but  also  to  ad- 
vance the  body  of  human 
knowledge.  For  the  present,  the 
Rice  Institute  would  look  to  the 
organization  of  a  faculty  of  sci- 
ences of  undisputed  distinction. 
An  embryonic  faculty  of  letters 
would  be  developed  at  first  only 
as  far  as  necessary  to  comple- 
ment the  courses  in  technical 
subjects.  Lovett  especially 
wanted  the  Institute  to  be  a  uni- 
versity that  could  award 
doctorates. 


Structuring  the  Institute 

Before  the  faculty  was  recruited, 
a  more  detailed  plan  of  general 
organization  had  to  be  developed. 
To  that  end  Lovett  asked  the 
board  to  send  him  on  a  journey 
of  inspection  to  investigate  the 
leading  educational  institutions 
of  the  United  States  and  Europe. 
He  wanted  to  see  what  other 
schools  were  doing  in  all  aspects 
of  university  life  and  to  confer 
with  the  educators  who  were  re- 
sponsible. The  board  agreed.'" 

While  in  Houston  Lovett  was 
entertained  by  the  mayor  and  the 
Houston  Business  League  and 
met  with  many  prominent  men 
of  the  city.  The  press  duly  re- 


ported his  visit  and  for  the  most 
part  seemed  pleased  with  his  ap- 
pointment. An  editorial  in  the 
Houston  Chronicle,  however, 
voiced  an  opinion  on  a  situation 
that  Lovett  might  have  to  deal 
with  when  he  returned;  the  board 
seemed  to  be  ignoring  it.  Many 
citizens  held  the  view  that  Wil- 
liam Marsh  Rice  had  given  the 
Institute  to  the  people  of  Hous- 
ton, and  some  of  them  were  im- 
patient to  learn  something  defi- 
nite about  the  school.  Only  the 
"high  character,  business  ability 
and  honesty  of  purpose  of  the 
trustees"  had  prevented  criticism 
of  them  for  withholding  informa- 
tion to  which  the  public  felt  en- 
titled, the  editorial  claimed.  It  is 
interesting  to  note  that  the  editor 
seemed  more  interested  in  the 
size  of  the  endowment  and  its  in- 
vestment than  in  the  educational 
plan.  "There  are  not  perhaps  ten 
men  in  Houston,"  the  editor  said, 
"who,  if  asked  what  the  resources 
of  the  institute  are  or  will  likely 
be,  either  for  building  or  for  en- 
dowment, could  give  an  answer 
which  would  be  more  than  a  haz- 
ardous guess.  ...  Of  what  the 
fund  consists  and  how  it  is  in- 
vested, and  what  are  the  returns 
upon  the  investment  is  known 
only  to  the  trustees."  The  edi- 
torial concluded  with  the  faint 
praise,  "The  highest  tribute  that 
could  have  been  paid  the  trustees 
is  the  patience  and  confidence 
with  which  the  people  have  so 
long  waited  in  ignorance  for  in- 
formation which  they  feel  they 
ought  to  have."' 

In  May  Lovett  hired  F.  Car- 
rington  Weems  to  be  his  private 
secretary  and  in  June  sent  the 


board  an  itinerary;  the  trustees 
voted  him  $1,625  for  the  trip. 
Lovett,  Mrs.  Lovett,  and  Weems 
sailed  for  Liverpool  and  landed 
about  August  i,  not  to  return  to 
the  United  States  until  April  of 
the  following  year.  It  was  an  ex- 
tensive trip.  The  party  traveled 
through  Great  Britain,  Ireland, 
Scandinavia,  Germany,  Switzer- 
land, Italy,  France,  Belgium,  the 
Netherlands,  Spain,  Portugal, 
Greece,  Austria-Hungary,  Poland, 
and  across  Russia  by  the  Trans- 
Siberian  Express  to  Japan.  They 
returned  to  Houston  on  May  7, 
1909.'^ 

President  Lovett  visited  a  large 
number  of  the  major  universities 
in  Europe  and  many  of  the  minor 
ones,  as  well  as  technical  schools, 
laboratories,  and  even  "public 
school"  Eton.  His  interests  were 
eclectic:  architecture,  building 
plans,  laboratory  arrangements, 
faculty  organization,  administra- 
tion, museums,  and  regulations. 
More  important  than  his  inves- 
tigation of  the  physical  estab- 
lishments were  the  people  with 
whom  Lovett  discussed  his  new 
institution.  Besides  prominent 
members  of  the  various  schools, 
he  visited  the  king  of  Norway 
and  consulted  many  Americans 
such  as  Woodrow  Wilson  and 
poet  and  professor  Henry  Van 
Dyke  of  Princeton  who  were 
traveling  or  lecturing  in  Europe 
at  that  time.  All  were  quite  will- 
ing to  give  the  new  president 
advice. 

Vice-chancellor  A.  W.  W.  Dale 
of  the  University  of  Liverpool 
told  him  to  consider  men  and 
equipment  rather  than  expensive 
buildings.  "Students  do  not  ob- 


The  Beginnings 


2.3 


serve  and  there  are  no  archi- 
tects." He  also  urged  large  sala- 
ries for  the  faculty  and  would  not 
require  science  students  to  study 
the  classics.  1.  Theodore  Merz, 
author  of  a  history  of  nineteenth- 
century  European  thought,  ad- 
vised a  larger  place  for  theoretical 
than  for  practical  science.  Prog- 
ress would  be  slower,  but  he 
thought  that  it  would  reap  re- 
wards in  the  long  run.  Merz  also 
said  that  women  should  be  ad- 
mitted to  the  institution  because 
"the  woman  question  will  not  be 
solved  as  long  as  the  women 
wish  to  have  the  same  education 
as  men."  Professor  [.  A.  Gibson  of 
Glasgow  told  Lovett  that  en- 
trance requirements  should  in- 
clude English,  mathematics,  one 
foreign  language  (classical  or 
modern),  and  a  course  in  science. 
He  recommended  constructing 
the  institution  with  the  need  for 
later  additions  in  mind.  Further- 
more, "Academic  scope  and  con- 
tent [are]  conditioned  by  two 
things:  what  the  students  are 
prepared  for  on  entrance;  what 
they  should  be  prepared  for  on 
leaving." 

In  London  Lovett  encountered 
Professor  Simon  Newcomb  of 
Johns  Hopkins,  who  thought  that 
America  already  had  enough  uni- 
versities. He  was,  however,  will- 
ing to  pass  along  some  recom- 
mendations. He  advised  high 
standards  for  degrees  but  a  stan- 
dard of  admission  that  would  per- 
mit the  student  body  to  grow 
rapidly.  He  also  recommended  a 
small  beginning  at  the  earliest 
date  possible  and  the  hiring  of 
Americans  as  instructors,  prefer- 
ably southerners;  he  warned  that 


it  would  be  difficult  to  interest 
other  men  in  the  undertaking  be- 
cause the  Institute  bore  an  indi- 
vidual's name  and  was  local.  Six 
English  educators  whom  Lovett 
met  in  Dublin,  including  f.  J. 
Thomson,  D.  W.  W.  Shaw,  and 
W.  E.  Shipley,  were  considerably 
more  helpful  than  Newcomb. 
They  said  that  the  Texans  "should 
consider  men  before  mortar  and 
brains  before  bricks"  and  pay 
good  salaries,  especially  to  the  ju- 
nior members  of  the  staff.  They 
all  agreed  that  the  best  teach- 
ers were  researchers  who  had 
time  and  facilities  for  their  own 
investigations. 

Recommendations  for  the  new 
faculty  proliferated.  Early  in  his 
trip,  Lovett  laid  out  in  his  journal 
a  plan  for  the  faculty  that  would 
have  required  at  least  135  mem- 
bers. He  knew  what  he  wanted 
in  a  faculty  of  sciences,  which 
"should  be  of  larger  scope  in  sub- 
ject and  function  than  any  simi- 
lar body  heretofore  organized.  It 
must  be  prepared  to  make  sci- 
ence, teach  science,  and  apply 
science  ....  The  work  must  be 
threefold: — Constructive  in  cre- 
ating the  new,  educative  in  teach- 
ing the  old,  immediately  utilitar- 
ian in  application  of  new  and  old 
to  the  common  good."'" 

While  in  Europe,  Lovett  took 
time  to  do  more  than  ask  ques- 
tions. He  read  papers  at  the  Asso- 
ciation for  the  Advancement  of 
Science  meeting  in  Dublin  and  to 
mathematicians  of  Stockholm 
and  Uppsala  at  a  dinner  in  Stock- 
holm— the  first  papers  presented 
from  the  Rice  Institute.  He  took 
advantage  of  opportunities  to 
work  in  the  outstanding  libraries 


of  universities  that  he  visited. 
On  a  side  trip  he  climbed  to  the 
highest  edge  of  the  crater  of  Vesu- 
vius, and  he  remarked  from  To- 
kyo that  the  censors'  vigilance 
had  made  it  impossible  to  send 
reports  by  mail  from  Russia.^" 

All  in  all,  Lovett's  trip  was  ex- 
tremely important.  The  fledgling 
president  had  met  almost  every- 
one of  importance  m  education, 
including  people  from  India  and 
South  Africa,  and  had  made  many 
friends  for  Rice.  The  guest  list  for 
the  formal  opening  is  eloquent 
testimony  to  the  scope  of  his  ac- 
quaintance. Furthermore,  he  had 
studied  and  discussed  every  facet 
of  university  organization,  ad- 
ministration, and  equipment 
with  experts  in  the  field.  Without 
this  trip,  it  is  doubtful  whether 
the  Institute  could  have  attracted 
an  initial  faculty  of  the  caliber  it 
did.  Lovett  knew  that  the  people 
of  Houston  and  the  trustees  were 
impatient  for  construction  to  be- 
gin; his  own  impatience  was  at 
times  "almost  uncontrollable." 
He  was  determined,  however,  not 
to  rush  but  to  get  the  maximum 
return  from  the  trip  and  to  do 
justice  to  the  endowment.  And 
he  did. 

When  Lovett  returned  from  Eu- 
rope, he  and  the  trustees  made 
several  formal  decisions  that 
were  to  set  the  tone  and  scope  for 
the  Institute  for  years  to  come. 
The  recommendations  originated 
with  Lovett  and  answered  several 
of  the  questions  with  which  the 
board  had  been  wrestling  since 
1904.  The  first  decision  was  to 
build  and  maintain  the  institu- 
tion out  of  annual  income  alone, 
keeping  intact  not  only  funds 


24 


The  Beginnings 


designated  by  tlie  founder  as  en- 
dowment, but  also  those  that 
might  have  been  spent  outright 
under  the  terms  of  the  charter. 
Because  of  the  prohibition  on 
debts,  this  decision  meant  that 
growth  would  be  slow." 

Second,  and  equally  important, 
the  Rice  Institute  would  aspire  to 
university  standing  of  the  highest 
level,  seeking  "to  attain  that  high 
place  through  the  research  work 
of  its  early  professors,  setting  no 
upper  limit  to  its  educational  en- 
deavor and  the  lower  limit  no 
lower  than  the  level  reached  by 
its  prospective  students  on  gradu- 
ation from  the  better  public  and 
private  high  schools  preparing  for 
college."  This  decision  removed 
the  institution  from  the  purely 
"technical  school"  category  that 
some  of  the  trustees  had  first 
contemplated.  It  also  meant  that 
Lovett,  who  was  cognizant  of 
changes  that  had  occurred  in  the 
preceding  thirty  years  in  higher 
education  and  of  the  connota- 
tions already  mentioned  for  the 
word  "institute,"  proclaimed  an 
intention  and  a  design  larger  than 
the  trustees  might  have  realized 
at  the  time. 

The  idea  of  a  "university,"  what 
one  was  and  what  it  did,  had 
gone  through  a  number  of  defini- 
tions and  redefinitions  in  the 
United  States  after  the  Civil  War. 
Originally  higher  education  in 
America  had  meant  the  estab- 
lishment of  colleges  that  were 
schools  of  rather  narrow  scope. 
Their  aims  were  to  build  charac- 
ter and  instill  moral  and  mental 
discipline,  and  they  concentrated 
on  teaching  a  superficial  kind  of 
knowledge  in  a  fixed,  four-year 


course  of  study  with  no  special- 
ization in  any  subject.  Those  few 
students  who  planned  to  con- 
tinue their  educations  beyond 
college  were  destined  for  "profes- 
sional" schools  of  law,  medicine, 
and  divinity.  From  Germany 
came  a  different  concept,  that  of 
the  university,  where  the  meth- 
ods and  goals  were  quite  dif- 
ferent. The  heart  of  the  German 
system  was  research,  the  disin- 
terested pursuit  of  truth  through 
original  investigation  with  the 
goal  of  advancing  knowledge. 
Furthermore,  German  professors 
and  their  students  specialized  in 
narrow  areas,  and  German  uni- 
versities became  famous  for  their 
success  in  joining  teaching  and 
research  and  in  producing  cre- 
ative, inquiring,  scholarly  minds. 
Before  the  Civil  War,  American 
scholars  began  to  go  to  Germany 
to  study  and  came  back  highly 
enthusiastic  about  changing  the 
system  of  higher  education  at 
home  to  fit  the  German  mode.  By 
the  1870s  and  1880s,  it  was  abso- 
lutely necessary  for  scholars  to 
study  in  Germany  and  earn  a 
doctorate  there  before  they  could 
advance  in  an  academic  career. 

As  with  other  concepts  im- 
ported from  the  Old  World,  the 
idea  of  a  university  was  modified 
by  American  viewpoints,  needs, 
opinions,  and  realities.  Questions 
had  to  be  answered  concerning 
its  shape,  governance,  curricu- 
lum, students,  and  social  pur- 
poses, as  well  as  the  place  and 
role  of  the  old  undergraduate  col- 
leges. What  finally  emerged  as 
the  American  university  reflected 
a  period  of  experimentation. 

Different  universities  tried  dif- 


ferent organizational  schemes. 
State  universities  in  the  Midwest 
and  West  discarded  the  tradi- 
tional classical  curriculum  and 
organized  around  a  series  of  spe- 
cialized undergraduate  depart- 
ments. They  added  a  number  of 
strictly  vocational  subjects  to  the 
normal  letters,  arts,  and  sciences. 
New  universities  like  Johns  Hop- 
kins and  Clark  concentrated  on 
graduate  teaching  and  research, 
trying  to  do  without  an  under- 
graduate college  entirely  or  sub- 
ordinating it  as  much  as  possible 
to  the  graduate  division.  Harvard 
president  Charles  Eliot  intro- 
duced the  elective  system  and 
tried  to  convert  the  college  itself 
into  a  university,  with  research 
and  scholarship  also  on  the  un- 
dergraduate level.  Yale,  which  in 
1 86 1  awarded  the  first  earned 
doctorates  in  America,  tried  to 
build  a  university  around  Yale 
College  by  adding  schools  such 
as  Sheffield  Scientific  School  to 
those  of  medicine,  law,  and  theol- 
ogy, while  at  the  same  time  re- 
taining the  collegiate  aspects  of 
fellowship,  general  studies,  and  a 
prescribed  curriculum  in  the  col- 
lege. Problems  arose,  however,  in 
trying  to  keep  Yale  College  from 
becoming  subordinate  to  the  uni- 
versity schools.  As  new  Ameri- 
can universities  were  founded 
and  old  colleges  reorganized, 
they  tended  to  develop  along 
departmental  lines,  with  a  col- 
lege of  arts  and  letters  as  one 
among  several  equivalent  schools 
or  departments. 

Unlike  the  Germans,  whose 
philosophy  called  for  the  pursuit 
of  knowledge  for  its  own  sake, 
Americans  talked  about  utility  in 


The  Beginnings 


25 


education.  A  university  was  to  be 
useful  to  society  by  providing 
various  services  to  the  commu- 
nity and  it  was  to  offer  a  util- 
itarian education  for  its  students 
by  providing  them  with  an  oc- 
cupation for  life.  Vocational  sub- 
jects, such  as  engineering  and 
other  applied  sciences  that  were 
formerly  learned  on  the  job,  joined 
the  humanities  and  pure  sciences 
as  university  subjects;  the  dis- 
tinctions between  professional 
and  vocational  careers  began  to 
blur.  American  pragmatism  and 
the  growing  need  for  experts  in 
the  rapidly  developing  technolog- 
ical fields  of  industry  further  pro- 
moted the  vocational  side  of 
higher  education. 

This  did  not  mean,  however, 
that  the  university  became  a 
trade  school.  Entrenched  in  many 
schools  were  the  departments  of 
classical  studies  and  humanities, 
and  these  often  waged  fierce  bat- 
tles to  maintain  their  places. 
Even  though  they  had  no  visible 
relation  to  a  "useful  occupation," 
humanistic  studies  remained  in 
the  new  university,  at  times  in 
very  powerful  positions.  Students 
could  still  earn  a  Bachelor  of  Arts 
degree  carrying  the  connotation 
of  a  "good  liberal  education." 

By  the  early  1900s,  most  of  the 
arguments  concerning  the  na- 
ture of  a  university  had  been  set- 
tled. Universities  would  be 
characterized  by  specialization  in 
studies,  professional  training, 
graduate  and  undergraduate  pro- 
grams, ongoing  research  by  the 
faculty,  and  a  balanced,  compre- 
hensive mixture  of  the  human- 
ities, the  pure  sciences,  and  the 
more  vocational  applied  sciences. 


The  elective  system  came  under 
attack  after  1900  for  leaving 
many  graduates  with  only  a 
smattering  of  knowledge  in  a 
number  of  fields  and  faulty  prepa- 
ration for  specialization.  Even  so, 
this  system  had  done  a  great  deal 
toward  bringing  science  and  the 
new  disciplines  into  equality 
with  the  classical  collegiate  sub- 
jects. What  to  put  in  its  place, 
how  to  arrange  the  curriculum  to 
blend  the  new  subjects  with  the 
old,  and  how  to  reorganize  the 
undergraduate  course  of  study, 
were  a  few  questions  that  had  not 
been  decided  with  any  degree  of 
unanimity. 

Rice,  neither  so  old  as  the  east- 
ern schools  nor  so  large  as  the 
western  ones,  had  the  chance  to 
choose  its  entry  point  into  the 
university  world  and  to  deter- 
mine its  own  emphasis.  It  was 
not  an  easy  decision.  On  one 
hand,  the  Institute  was  dedicated 
to  the  advancement  of  literature, 
science,  and  art.  On  the  other, 
there  was  simply  not  enough 
money  immediately  to  establish 
really  strong  departments  in 
every  category.  It  would  be  possi- 
ble, however,  to  have  the  back- 
bone of  a  university  program — 
faculty  research  and  graduate 
training — in  one  area  in  the  be- 
ginning and  then  to  expand  as 
circumstances  permitted.^' 

Hence  the  board  arrived  at  its 
third  decision.  The  Rice  Institute 
would  first  enter  into  a  university 
program  in  the  sciences.  This 
course  of  instruction  would  also 
benefit  the  community.  (There 
was  no  school  of  applied  and  pure 
science  in  the  rapidly  developing 
Houston  area,  and  technical  ex- 


pertise was  at  a  premium.)  Even 
at  the  start  there  would  be  a  ba- 
sic core  of  "liberal  education" 
courses  considered  essential  to  a 
university  degree,  but  humanities 
departments  would  be  added 
later,  as  resources  became  avail- 
able. Graduate  doctoral  programs 
would  concentrate  on  mathemat- 
ics, physics,  and  chemistry.  With 
respect  to  art,  the  trustees  de- 
cided to  "take  architecture  seri- 
ously" and  provide  a  physical 
setting  of  great  beauty  as  well  as 
utility.^"' 

The  Site  and  the 
Physical  Plan 

The  last  decision  made  selection 
of  an  architect  critical.  When  he 
returned  to  Houston,  President 
Lovett  wrote  and  then  visited 
many  architects  throughout  the 
North  and  East,  soliciting  their 
ideas  for  the  Institute.  The  visits 
allowed  reduction  of  the  list  of 
possible  architects  to  three  or 
four  men.  After  much  thought, 
Lovett  picked  and  the  board  ap- 
proved Ralph  Adams  Cram  of 
Cram,  Goodhue  and  Ferguson  of 
Boston.  Lovett  later  said  that  his 
choice  was  in  the  end  more  intui- 
tive than  reasoned,  as  he  was 
more  impressed  by  Cram's  imag- 
inative grasp  of  the  elements  of 
the  problem  than  he  was  by  the 
other  candidates'.  Nevertheless, 
he  made  the  recommendation 
somewhat  reluctantly,  because 
Cram  was  Princeton's  supervis- 
ing architect  and  Lovett  wanted 
to  establish  some  reputation  for 
independence  of  judgment  in  his 
new  home.^- 


26 


The  Beginnings 


^.Mi-S:;^ 


12.  Ralph  Adams  Cram,  of  the  Boston  architectural  firm  of  Cram.  Godhue 
and  Ferguson,  which  designed  the  plan  and  early  buildings  of  the  Rice 
Institute.  Drawn  by  F.  M.  Rines  from  a  photograph. 


To  ensure  that  the  best  possi- 
ble laboratories  would  be  built, 
Lovett  organized  an  advisory 
committee  of  eminent  scientists 
to  help  plan  the  structures.  The 
group  was  composed  of  Joseph  S. 
Ames,  director  of  the  physical 
laboratory  at  Johns  Hopkms, 
Edwin  G.  Conklin,  director  of 
the  new  biological  laboratory  at 
Princeton,  Theodore  W.  Richards, 


head  of  the  department  of  chem- 
istry at  Harvard,  and  Samuel  W. 
Stratton,  director  of  the  National 
Bureau  of  Standards  in  Washing- 
ton. All  had  considerable  experi- 
ence in  the  construction  of  labo- 
ratories and  were  knowledgeable 
about  the  essential  equipment. "~ 

While  Lovett  was  on  his  trip 
around  the  world,  the  trustees 
had  bought  land  for  the  site  of 


the  Institute.  They  chose  the 
acreage  on  Main  Street  that  Lov- 
ett had  suggested,  about  three 
miles  from  the  city  center.  In 
June  1908  the  board  decided  to 
purchase  about  300  acres,  and 
they  began  negotiations  to  ac- 
quire them.  Altogether  there 
were  purchases  of  ten  parcels  of 
land  ranging  in  size  from  under 
an  acre  to  over  95  acres.  Almost 
one-third  of  the  acreage  was  pur- 
chased from  George  W.  Hermann, 
who  later  gave  the  city  of  Hous- 
ton much  of  the  adjoining  land 
for  a  park.  The  board  had  com- 
pleted the  major  purchases,  with 
one  notable  exception,  by  May 
1909,  in  time  for  Lovett 's  return 
from  abroad.  The  total  cost  was 
almost  $250,000  for  approxi- 
mately 290  acres." 

The  exception  was  an  eight- 
acre  farm  that  cut  into  the  grounds 
from  Main  Street.  It  belonged  to 
Charles  F.  Weber,  who  claimed 
that  he  had  no  desire  to  sell  any 
part  of  his  land.  Nonetheless  he 
finally  agreed  in  19 10  to  sell  at  a 
price  of  more  than  $7,000  per 
acre.  At  the  time  of  the  sale,  the 
trustees  made  an  agreement  with 
Weber  that  allowed  him  to  re- 
main on  the  land  for  three-and-a- 
half  years.  The  board  soon  regret- 
ted its  concession.  As  the  plans 
for  the  site  developed,  Weber's 
farm  rested  next  to  the  location 
of  the  Administration  Building, 
with,  some  remember,  a  pigsty  at 
the  south  corner  of  the  building. 
In  addition,  for  a  time  Weber  had 
extended  his  fence  onto  Institute 
property.  After  much  effort  Weber 
was  persuaded  to  move  off  the 
land,  and  the  fence  and  other 
farm  appurtenances  were  re- 


The  Beginnings 


27 


moved  only  a  few  days  before  the 
academic  procession  leading  to 
the  formal  dedication  would  have 
been  forced  to  change  its  in- 
tended route  to  the  platform/' 

Completed,  the  site  had  five 
sides,  bounded  by  what  are  today 
Main  Street,  Sunset  and  Rice 
Boulevards,  Greenbriar  Street, 
and  University  Boulevard.  There 
was  a  bayou,  Harris  Gully,  to  be 
known  by  students  as  "the  Blue 
Danube,"  cutting  across  the 
western  end;  today  this  waterway 
is  channeled  through  a  conduit 
under  the  parking  lot  of  the  foot- 
ball stadium.  The  site  was  flat, 
marshy,  and  subject  to  flooding. 
Trees  and  shrubs  lined  the  bayou, 
and  there  was  a  small  grove  of 
trees  near  the  intersection  of 
Main  and  Sunset.  Otherwise,  the 
site  was  bare  prairie  land. 

Architect  Cram  seems  to  have 
been  both  intrigued  and  appalled 
by  this  site,  which  he  called 
"level  and  stupid."  With  no  his- 
torical or  stylistic  precedent  in 
the  vicinity  and  no  ideas  imposed 
by  the  president  or  trustees,  how- 
ever, the  possibilities  for  inven- 
tion were  boundless.  Cram's  fav- 
orite Gothic  style  simply  would 
not  suit  this  site,  but  then  nei- 
ther would  colonial  or  Georgian 
or  Spanish-Indian-Baroque.  In  his 
search  for  a  style  that  was  beauti- 
ful, southern  in  spirit,  and  con- 
tinuous with  the  historic  and 
cultural  past.  Cram  invented  a 
new  style  based  on  elements 
from  Mediterranean  architecture. 
Venice  and  the  Dalmatian  coast 
offered  the  most  promising  in- 
spirations. The  result  has  been 
called  "a  combination  of  the 
twelfth  and  thirteenth  century 


Byzantine,  Romanesque,  and  Ve- 
netian Gothic."^" 

In  addition  to  deciding  on  a 
style.  Cram  had  to  plan  at  once 
for  both  the  present  and  the  dis- 
tant future.  The  school  needed 
adequate  and  economical  build- 
ings immediately;  but  in  order  to 
expand  efficiently  in  the  future 
and  avoid  an  unorganized  hodge- 
podge, it  also  needed  a  flexible 
scheme.  It  did  not  take  long  for 
Cram  to  invent  three  possible 
plans,  all  very  ambitious  and 
rather  cluttered.  The  quadrangle 
system  of  organization  was  per- 
haps the  one  idea  that  survived 
all  the  various  planning  stages. 
(There  were  thirty-five  or  forty 
preliminary  studies.)  In  the  trial 
plans  as  well  as  in  the  final  one, 
Cram  proposed  quadrangles  for 
science,  fine  arts,  student  resi- 
dences, law,  medicine,  and  a  grad- 
uate college.  Cloisters — roofed 
colonnades  open  on  the  sides — 
connected  buildings  within  quad- 
rangles and  sometimes  the  quad- 
rangles themselves.  Since  Rice 
was  to  be  "aggressively  nonsec- 
tarian"  (as  Cram  put  it),"  there 
was  no  provision  for  a  chapel. 
One  tentative  plan  shows  a  Greek 
amphitheater  with  an  artificial 
lake  constructed  along  the  bayou, 
and  the  final  one  called  for  re- 
flecting pools  in  the  first  quad- 
rangle to  heighten  the  Venetian 
effect.  These  pools  were  never 
built,  possibly  because  of  Lovett's 
misgivings,  although  the  presi- 
dent did  consider  lining  them 
with  concrete  and  stocking  them 
with  small  fish  to  deal  with  mos- 
quito larvae.  " 

In  spite  of  Cram's  multitudes 
of  ideas,  or  perhaps  because  of 


them,  it  took  months  to  arrive  at 
a  mutually  agreeable  general 
plan.  What  Cram  suggested,  the 
board  or  Lovett  changed,  and  vice 
versa.  Buildings  were  moved  on 
paper  and  moved  again.  A  trip  to 
Houston  by  Cram  and  Goodhue 
at  the  end  of  November  1909 
helped  to  clarify  some  items  and 
resulted  in  cost  estimates,  but  it 
left  many  problems  unsolved. 
The  architects  were  hardly  back 
in  Boston  before  Lovett  wrote 
that  the  preliminary  floor  plan 
for  the  Administration  Building 
allotted  too  much  space  to  activi-        I  i 
ties  of  secondary  importance,  ' 

such  as  a  museum  and  a  trustees' 
room.  Lovett  wanted  a  practical, 
purely  academic  arrangement 
with  space  for  classrooms,  con-  < 

ference  areas,  lecture  rooms,  and 
a  library  He  was  also  dissatis- 
fied with  the  placement  of  the 
physical  laboratory  group  and  the 
powerhouse." 

Linchpin  to  the  entire  arrange- 
ment was  the  location  of  the  Ad- 
ministration Building,  and  that 
proved  especially  difficult  to  set- 
tle. Part  of  the  difficulty  was  cre- 
ated by  the  Weber  farm,  not  yet 
purchased,  but  part  was  due  to 
the  aesthetics  of  the  plot.  To  one 
of  Lovett's  arrangements  Cram 
replied  that  there  were  "no  dis- 
tinguished architectural  composi- 
tions," and  in  fact,  he  called  it  "a 
catastrophe  from  an  architectural 
standpoint."*' 

The  location  of  the  Admin- 
istration Building  on  a  line  ori- 
ented east-west  or  north-south 
also  determined  its  floor  plan  and 
its  exterior  appearance.  As  the 
building  was  moved  about,  so  the 
ground-floor  arcades  were  moved 


28 


The  Beginnings 


from  one  side  of  tlie  building  to 
the  other.  By  March  1910,  Cram 
was  moved  to  ask, 

How  can  you  not  place  some 
reliance  in  us  as  your  chosen  ar- 
chitects when  it  comes  to  a  mat- 
ter that,  like  this,  is  one  almost 
wholly  of  designl  It  seems  to  us 
that  it  is  really  our  function  to 
determine  more  or  less  questions 
of  this  nature.  Where  cost,  prac- 
tical considerations,  or  the  sacri- 
fice of  valuable  space  is  con- 
cerned, it  is,  of  course  your  duty 
to  pass  upon  everything  we  sug- 
gest, but  while  we  welcome 
every  particle  of  assistance  you 
can  give  us  from  an  artistic 
standpoint,  we  must  admit  that 
this  case  of  the  Rice  Institute  is 
the  only  one  we  have  ever  had  in 
our  experience  where  the  highest 
authorities  were  so  exceedingly 
conscientious  as  to  strictly  archi- 
tectural considerations.' 

Where  cost  was  concerned,  the 
trustees  certainly  knew  their 
duty,  to  Cram's  exasperation.  Be- 
cause of  some  confusion  over  the 
cost  of  the  buildings — Cram  esti- 
mated forty  cents  per  cubic  foot, 
but  the  trustees  thought  twenty- 
five  cents  adequate — the  trustees 
had  not  signed  a  formal  contract 
or  begun  to  pay  the  commis- 
sion. The  architects  were  under- 
standably upset.  Producing  plans, 
sketches,  and  specifications  cost 
them  money.  They  pdinted  out  to 
Lovett  that  every  one  of  their 
other  clients  paid  for  estimates, 
even  the  United  States  govern- 
ment. This  was  the  first  time  in 
their  twenty-two  years  of  experi- 
ence that  a  client  had  demanded 
that  they  wait  until  contracts 


were  assigned  before  paying. 
Lovett  later  commented  that 
"team  work  was  not  always  easy 
with  trustees  sitting  tight  on 
the  money  bags  and  an  archi- 
tect's imagination  soaring  to  the 
stars. "'" 

On  April  27,  19 10,  the  Board  of 
Trustees  formally  approved  the 
architect's  plans.  Bids  were  in- 
vited, and  on  June  27,  19 10,  a 
contract  was  signed  with  the  firm 
of  William  Miller  &  Sons  Com- 
pany of  Pittsburgh  for  the  con- 
struction of  the  Administration 
Building.  In  September  the  same 
firm  also  won  contracts  for 
the  Mechanical  Laboratory  and 
powerhouse  combination.  Ap- 
proximate costs,  exclusive  of 
contents,  were  $400,000  for 
the  Administration  Building, 
$235,000  for  the  power  plant  and 
Mechanical  Laboratory,  and 
$420,000  for  the  first  residential 
group. -^ 

As  finally  accepted,  the  general 
plan  provided  for  every  con- 
tingency of  expansion.  From  the 
Institute's  main  entrance  at  the 
corner  nearest  the  city,  the  road 
to  the  Administration  Building 
branched  off  at  a  thirty-degree  an- 
gle. This  approach  led  to  the  cen- 
tral axis  of  the  plan:  a  clear  view 
through  the  Sallyport  in  the  Ad- 
ministration Building  westward 
to  the  far  edge  of  the  campus,  a 
distance  of  approximately  one 
mile.  Before  the  quadrangle  was 
closed  by  construction  of  Fon- 
dren  Library  in  1949,  the  Sally- 
port framed  the  setting  sun  dur- 
ing the  summer  months.  To  be 
lined  with  oak  trees,  the  road 
from  the  entrance  to  the  Admin- 
istration Building  stretched  about 


a  quarter  of  a  mile,  ending  in  a 
forecourt.  On  one  side  of  the 
court  (according  to  the  plan)  was 
to  be  built  the  School  of  Fine 
Arts  and  on  the  other  a  residen- 
tial college  for  women.  The  road 
divided  at  the  Administration 
Building  and  rounded  each  end  of 
the  building  to  continue  in  two 
oak-lined  drives  parallel  to  the 
main  axis,  about  700  feet  apart. 
Passing  through  the  Sallyport, 
one  entered  the  court  of  the  first 
academic  group.  Cram  envi- 
sioned this  court  surrounded  on 
three  sides  by  five  buildings  with 
cloisters  facing  the  court.  Mea- 
suring 300  by  500  feet,  the  garden 
within  was  to  be  planted  in  cy- 
presses. Beyond  this  group  opened 
a  larger  court  planted  with  live 
oaks  and  surrounded  by  more 
academic  buildings.  At  the  ex- 
treme west  end  of  the  second 
court  was  to  be  a  pool  and  Greek 
amphitheater. 

Secondary  axes  lay  perpendicu- 
lar to  the  main  axis.  The  first  of 
these  began  on  Main  Street  and 
ran  north  past  the  dormitories, 
through  the  first  academic  court 
to  the  Mechanical  Laboratory 
and  powerhouse.  Those  buildings 
were  the  first  in  the  engineering 
quadrangle.  The  first  north-south 
axis  lay  east  of  the  student  dor- 
mitories. The  second  ran  through 
the  middle  of  the  dormitory  group, 
across  the  larger  academic  court, 
and  was  intended  to  end  in  an- 
other quadrangle  containing  the 
Graduate  School  and  its  profes- 
sional departments. 

The  residential  quadrangle  was 
to  have  its  own  east-west  axis, 
parallel  to  the  main  axis,  with 
dormitories  on  two  sides,  a  stu- 


The  Beginnings 


2,9 


•"^i^;-::  .!.•:: 


13.  Final  plan  for  the  Institute,  drawn  by  the  firm  of  Cram,  Goodhue  and  Ferguson. 


dent  union  at  the  eastern  end, 
and  a  gymnasium  and  athletic 
stadium  at  the  west  end.  The  ar- 
chitects provided  for  facuhy  resi- 
dences, including  a  president's 
house  on  the  east  side  of  the 
campus  off  Sunset  Boulevard.  If 
all  these  proposed  structures 
were  built,  there  would  still  be 
room  for  professional  schools 
such  as  law  and  medicine  in  the 
third  of  the  campus  that  was  left 
untouched.  Cram's  spacious 
plan  would  allow  pleasing  vistas 
through  the  campus  and  would 
avoid  crowding  buildings  meanly 


together  in  a  muddle  in  the  way 
that  several  of  the  older  eastern 
schools  had  done.  Cram's  plan 
also  oriented  buildings  to  take 
advantage  of  the  prevailing  south- 
erly breezes,  a  necessity  in  the 
days  before  air  conditioning. 
Open  spaces,  high  ceilings,  large 
windows,  and  one-room-thick 
buildings  would  help  counteract 
the  oppressive  Houston  heat. 
Considering  the  semitropical  cli- 
mate, one  understands  why  Rice 
would  have  no  summer  session 
(until  1977)  and  why  the  faculty, 
more  often  than  not  from  cooler 


climates,  would  abandon  the  city 
for  the  mountains  and  other 
more  temperate  locales  during 
the  summer  months.'" 


The  First  Buildings 

Gem  of  the  campus,  then  and 
now,  was  the  Administration 
Building,  now  called  Lovett  Hall. 
Ralph  Adams  Cram,  who  left  the 
actual  construction  supervision 
to  a  representative  from  the  Bos- 
ton office  (architect  William 
Ward  Watkin,  who  would  later 


3° 


The  Beginnings 


14.  Early  stages  of  construction  of  the  Administration  Building,  now  called 
Lovett  Hall.  The  flat  and  marshy  site  made  it  necessary  to  construct 
gangplanks  in  order  to  avoid  the  standing  water. 


15.  William  Ward  Watkin,  who 
supervised  construction  of  the  early 
buildings  for  Cram,  Goodhue  and 
Ferguson  and  stayed  at  Rice  to 
establish  the  architecture 
department. 


16.  Construction  of  the  Administration  Building.  iVlay 
1912. 


17.  The  nearly  completed  Administration  Building. 


The  Beginnings 


31 


18.  The  finished  building,  showing  the  Mechanical  Laboratory  to  the  right. 


found  the  university's  architec- 
ture program),  is  said  to  have  ex- 
claimed in  surprise  and  dehght 
when  he  first  saw  the  completed 
structure.  In  this  building  can  be 
seen  all  the  elements  that  Cram 
drew  together — vaulted  Byzan- 
tine cloisters,  Dalmatian  brick- 
work, marbled  columns,  sculp- 
tured capitals.  Cram  used  all  the 
color  he  could  command.  A  spe- 
cial rose-hued  brick  contrasts 
harmoniously  with  gray  mortar. 
Marble  for  the  columns  and 
sheathing  came  from  the  Ozark 
Mountains,  Greece,  Italy,  Swit- 
zerland, Vermont,  and  Tennessee. 
A  frieze  of  blue  tile  runs  under 
the  marble  cornice,  and  glazed 
tile  decorates  the  tower  facades. 
Carved  column  capitals  embody 
caricatures  of  ancient  and  mod- 
ern scientists  and  humanists, 
football  players,  women  students, 
and  a  few  strange  beasts  frolick- 
ing beneath  the  arches.  At  the 


four  corners  of  the  Sallyport 
muse  representatives  of  the  fresh- 
man through  senior  classes,  the 
freshman  looking  hilariously 
happy,  the  senior  studiously 
serious.*' 

The  building  itself  is  300  feet 
long  and  50  feet  deep.  Its  three 
stories  are  deceptive.  Because  of 
the  high  ceilings,  each  flight  of 
stairs  seems  a  story  and  a  half  to 
the  climber.  A  sallyport  thirty 
feet  high  runs  through  the  center 
of  the  building;  above  it  was  lo- 
cated President  Lovett's  office.  It 
is  said  that  Lovett  wanted  his  of- 
fice to  be  placed  over  a  sallyport 
as  was  Woodrow  Wilson's  at 
Princeton,  but  he  had  not  reck- 
oned on  the  height  of  the  one  in 
his  new  building.  Two  flights  of 
stairs,  one  on  either  side  of  the 
Sallyport,  led  to  the  office;  Lovett 
told  a  student  later  that  there 
were  seventy-seven  steps  on  the 
south  side  and  seventy-eight  on 


the  north,  but  that  they  came  out 
to  the  same  height.  Hubert  Bray 
of  the  mathematics  department 
immortalized  Lovett's  location  in 
a  limerick: 

A  great  man  is  Edgar  O.  Lovett. 

His  office  has  nothing  above  it. 

It  is  four  stories  high. 

As  close  to  the  sky. 

As  William  Ward  Watkin 

could  shove  it.'" 

Because  of  the  Sallyport  and 
the  need  for  cross  ventilation, 
the  floor  plan  of  the  building 
eliminated  interior  halls,  except 
for  the  stairwells.  Most  rooms 
stretched  completely  across  the 
building.  The  Administration 
Building  did  double  and  triple 
duty,  especially  in  the-early  days 
of  the  Institute,  containing  ad- 
ministrative offices,  professors' 
offices,  classrooms,  seminar 
rooms,  the  library,  a  lounge  and 
study  room  for  women,  and  a 


32 


The  Beginnings 


19.  View  through  the  completed  Sallyport.  October  6.  1912. 


The  Beginnings 


33 


20.  The  completed  Faculty  Chamber,  with  light  fixtures  and  other  details  in  place. 


34 


The  Beginnings 


21.  President  Lovett's  office  on  the  fourth  floor  of  the  Administration  Building. 


The  Beginnings 


35 


22.  Boys'  Study  in  the  Administration  Building. 


36 


The  Beginnings 


23.  Classroom  on  the  third  floor  of  the  Administration  Building. 


li^«ti 


"»;-i^'^BS*»s-i  ■ 


24.  Construction  photograph  of  the  Mechanical  Engmeering  Laboratorv  and 
powerhouse,  probably  1912. 


study  for  men.  The  two-storied 
Faculty  Chamber  took  the  place 
of  an  auditorium  until  the  phys- 
ics amphitheater  was  added  m 
1914, 

The  Mechanical  Laboratory, 
machine  shop,  and  powerhouse 
complex  sat  at  the  head  of  the 
second  major  axis.  Similar  to  the 
Administration  Building  but  by 
no  means  as  intricate,  the  com- 
plex had  a  facade  that  echoed  the 
cloisters  of  the  other  buildings 
and  repeated  the  color  scheme. 
The  smokestack  for  the  power- 
house boiler  was  disguised  as  a 
campanile,  which  historian  An- 
drew Forest  Muir  called  an  "un- 
fortunate piece  of  architectural 
hypocrisy."  As  originally  con- 
structed, the  campanile  had  "a 
hideous  shingled  skirt"  near  the 
top  that  repeated  the  roof  line  of 
the  building  beneath  it.  (It  was 
removed  when  lightning  struck  it 
in  the  1930s.)  Heat,  light,  and 
water  were  delivered  from  the 
powerhouse  to  the  other  build- 
ings through  a  tunnel  network  of 
considerable  size  and  length. 
Central  heating  would  eliminate 
the  need  for  fireplaces,  although 
there  would  be  a  few  in  the  Ad- 
ministration Building.-^ 

For  the  men  students,  one  resi- 
dential hall  and  the  Commons 
were  to  open  in  1912.  The  gen- 
eral plan  for  South  Fiall  (now 
known  as  Will  Rice  College), 
a  three-story  structure  with  a 
tower  of  five  stories,  would  be  re- 
peated in  East  and  West  Halls 
(Baker  and  Hanszen  Colleges) 
within  a  few  years.  East  and 
South  Halls  connected  with  the 
Commons  (now  the  Baker  Col- 
lege commons)  by  cloisters;  West 


The  Beginnings 


37 


25.  The  completed  Mechanical  Engineering  Laboratory  with  landscaping.  "Mr.  Dennis"  is  in  the  foreground. 


Hall  stood  across  the  road.  The 
Commons  was  the  dining  hall  for 
all  residents  and  had  its  own 
tower  where  a  few  single  faculty 
members  and  graduate  students 
lived. 

No  university  is  complete 
without  a  touch  of  heraldry,  and 
the  Rice  Institute  would  have  its 
colors,  shield,  and  patron  saints. 
Pierre  de  Chaignon  la  Rose  of 
Cambridge,  Massachusetts,  de- 


signed the  shield,  combining  ele- 
ments of  the  arms  of  several 
families  having  the  names  Rice 
and  Houston.  Some  of  these 
coats  of  arms  had  both  chevrons 
and  three  avian  charges,  and  la 
Rose  adapted  these  for  the  Insti- 
tute. In  the  official  shield  a  dou- 
ble chevron  divides  the  field,  and 
the  charges  are  the  owls  of  Athena 
as  they  appear  on  a  small  Greek 
coin,  the  silver  tetradrachmenon 


of  the  fifth  century  B.C.  Choosing 
colors  was  more  difficult  than  de- 
signing the  shield,  because  it  was 
not  proper  to  duplicate  the  colors 
of  another  institution.  At  the 
same  time,  the  designer  wanted 
to  harmonize  the  appearance  of 
the  new  shield  with  state  and  na- 
tional colors.  The  colors  also 
needed  to  be  easily  procurable 
and  appropriate  to  the  climate: 
colorful  but  not  hot,  delicate  but 


38 


The  Beginnings 


26.  Dining  room  of  the  Commons,  now  Baker  College  commons. 


The  Beginnings 


39 


27.  The  Commons  kitchen. 


40 


The  Beginnings 


28-30.  Figures  curved  into  the 
Administration  Building  capitals  by 
sculptor  Oswald  /.  Lassig.  28. 
Darwin.  29.  DeLesseps.  30. 
Thucydides. 


31-32.  Exterior  plaques  on  the 
Administration  Builduig.  31.  Plaque 
dedicated  to  science.  32.  Plaque 
dedicated  to  art. 


The  Beginnings 


41 


F^^p^/*:j^^^i^^^^<^!^^^, 


KEBUlLDlNC^-iK-  i 


s 


^i 

1 
^ 


31 


32 


42 


The  Beginnings 


33.  Ceremony  laying  the  cornerstone  of  the  Administration  Building,  March 
2,  1911. 


B0YA€C9AI  ^.AKim  MP  \ 

- .:.  riMiN^repcuNvof- 


34.  I  he  cornerstone  of  the  Administration  lUiiUlinK-  I  uuisUncd.  the 
inscription  reads.  "  'Rather.'  said  Democritus.  'wouhl  I  discover  the  cause  of 
one  fact  than  become  King  of  the  Persians.'" 


not  lifeless.  The  final  choices 
were  Confederate  gray  enlivened 
by  a  tinge  of  lavender  and  a  blue 
deeper  than  the  Oxford  blue.' 

Into  the  capitals  of  the  Admin- 
istration Building's  cloister  were 
carved  effigies  of  the  "patron 
saints"  of  the  new  Institute.  Six- 
teen men  represented  the  univer- 
sity's various  disciplines.  For 
example,  Thucydides  symbolized 
history,  Ferdinand  de  Lesseps  en- 
gineering, Charles  Darwin  biol- 
ogy, and  Pierre  Curie  studies  in 
radioactivity.  An  Austrian  sculp- 
tor, Oswald  Lassig,  carved  the 
capitals  after  they  had  been  put 
in  place.  Fie  and  his  workers  were 
also  responsible  for  the  other 
carvings  on  the  building.  The  ex- 
terior walls  of  the  Faculty  Cham- 
ber displayed  tablets  carved  with 
inscriptions  to  the  concepts  of 
letters,  science,  and  art,  selected 
from  the  writings  of  Fiomer,  Isaac 
Newton,  and  Leonardo  da  Vinci. 
Flanking  the  Sallyport  on  the 
cloister  side  were  two  more  tab- 
lets— dedicated  to  science  and 
art — with  life-sized,  draped  sym- 
bolic female  figures  and  appropri- 
ate dicta  from  the  writings  of 
Aristotle  and  Plotinus. 


Construction  Begins 

In  a  simple  ceremony  the  cor- 
nerstone for  the  Administration 
Building  was  laid  March  2,  19 11, 
the  seventy-fifth  anniversary  of 
Texas's  independence  from  Mex- 
ico. (Lovett  had  hoped  to  lay  it  on 
Washington's  birthday,  but  those 
plans  went  awry.)  On  dedication 
day  the  trustees  were  present, 
and  Captain  James  Baker  wielded 


The  Beginnings 


43 


the  trowel.  Deposited  m  the 
stone  was  a  sealed  copper  box 
containing  a  copy  of  the  King 
James  version  of  the  Bible,  the 
charter  of  the  Institute  tran- 
scribed on  parchment,  a  brief  bi- 
ography of  William  Marsh  Rice, 
short  sketches  of  the  careers  of 
the  trustees,  a  photograph  of  the 
general  site  plan  and  buildings,  a 
copy  of  the  Houston  Chronicle  of 
January  12,  191 1,  and  a  copy  of 
the  Houston  Daily  Post  of  Janu- 
ary 18,  191 1.  The  stone  itself, 
Ozark  marble,  is  on  the  forecourt 
side  of  the  Sallyport.  On  it  are 
the  shield  of  the  Institute,  the 
date,  and  the  shield  of  the  state  of 
Texas.  The  inscription  below  is  a 
Greek  quotation  in  Byzantine  let- 
tering from  the  Praepaiatio  Evan- 
gelica  of  Eusebius  Pamphili, 
which  reads  in  English,  "  'Rather,' 
said  Democritus,  'would  I  dis- 
cover the  cause  of  one  fact  than 
become  King  of  the  Persians.""" 

Construction  continued 
throughout  1911  and  into  191 2. 
Workmen  excavated  tunnels  and 


laid  drains,  buildings  sprang  up 
above  ground,  and  the  Teas  Nur- 
sery Company  under  the  direc- 
tion of  Edward  Teas,  Sr.,  planted 
trees  and  shrubs  along  the  new 
gravel  walks  and  roads.  Gravel 
was  chosen  instead  of  asphalt  or 
concrete  for  both  walkways  and 
roads  because  it  harmonized  with 
the  architecture,  although  some 
people  would  later  claim  that 
Lovett  wanted  it  because  Prince- 
ton University  had  gravel  walks. 
The  construction  did  not  proceed 
fast  enough  to  suit  some  of  the 
citizens  of  Houston.  The  Hous- 
ton Post  declared  in  November 
191 1,  "  'Some  tremendous  event 
is  going  to  mark  the  end  of  time 
and  the  beginning  of  eternity,' 
says  a  Richmond  divine.  If  he  is 
alluding  to  the  anticipated  com- 
pletion of  the  Rice  Institute,  we 
desire  to  state  it  would  be  too 
late  to  be  of  service  to  the  boys  of 
today."  And  again  in  December, 
"Time  may  be  divided  into  four 
grand  periods,  viz.,  past,  present, 
future,  and  the  twilight  zone 


which  may  or  may  not  mark  the 
completion  of  the  Rice 
Institute."" 

By  May  19 12  the  board  had  de- 
cided to  set  the  opening  of  the 
school  for  September  23  of  that 
year,  the  twelfth  anniversary  of 
the  founder's  death.  They  were 
worried  that  the  buildings  would 
not  be  completed  and  called  upon 
supervising  architect  Watkm  and 
representatives  of  the  construc- 
tion companies  to  state  firm 
dates  for  completion.  The  trust- 
ees instructed  Watkin  to  put  ex- 
tra men  on  the  job  if  it  became 
necessary.^'  They  were  deter- 
mined to  open  the  Institute  on 
time. 


CHAPTER      3 


The  Formative  Years 


Completed  buildings  were  un- 
doubtedly important  to  the  Insti- 
tute, but  its  ultnnate  success 
would  depend  on  two  other  fac- 
tors: the  faculty  and  the  student 
body.  President  Lovett  wanted  to 
obtain  an  outstanding  faculty  be- 
cause he  knew  that  without  one, 
good  students  would  not  come. 
The  trustees,  aware  of  the  im- 
portance of  a  first-rate  faculty, 
agreed.  Upon  returning  from 
an  inspection  trip  of  European 
schools  in  1908,  trustee  J.  E.  Mc- 
Ashan  reported,  "My  interviews 
with  educators  lead  me  to  believe 
that  the  only  way  we  can  com- 
mand patronage  is  to  have  men 
and  apparatus  that  will  challenge 
the  appreciation  of  the  earnest 
students  of  the  world,  who  desire 
to  achieve  success,  and  not  cater 
too  much  to  those  students  who 
only  go  to  college  as  a  matter  of 
good  form."' 


Selecting  the  Faculty 

While  one  purpose  of  Lovett's 
own  long  trip  in  1908-09  was  to 
seek  recommendations  for  fac- 
ulty members,  he  could  not  actu- 
ally hire  anyone  until  the  open- 
ing date  had  been  set.  During 
1 9 10  and  191 1,  hopeful  candi- 
dates from  all  over  the  United 
States  sent  letters  of  inquiry 
along  with  their  credentials  and 
recommendations;  it  appears, 
however,  that  their  efforts  were 
in  vain.  Lovett  wanted  faculty 
members  who  were  found  through 
his  own  endeavors  instead  of 
those  who  found  him.  He  was 
particularly  interested  in  secur- 
ing a  good  physicist  and  a  good 
mathematician.  He  was  able  to 
hire  both. 

From  Sir  John  Joseph  Thom- 
son, world-renowned  physicist  of 
the  Cavendish  Laboratory  at 
Cambridge,  Lovett  received  a  list 
of  outstanding  men  in  physics. 
Of  the  five  on  the  list,  he  talked 
seriously  with  two,  P.  V.  Bevan 


and  H.  A.  Wilson,  both  former 
Fellows  of  Trinity  College,  Cam- 
bridge. In  1912  Bevan  was  pro- 
fessor of  physics  at  the  Royal 
Halloway  College  for  Women, 
University  of  London,  and  Wil- 
son was  professor  of  physics  at 
McGill  University  in  Montreal. 
Some  of  the  difficulties  that  Lov- 
ett had  in  hiring  faculty  members 
were  evident  in  negotiations  with 
these  two  men. 

Everyone  mentioned  the  in- 
famous Houston  climate  at  some 
point  in  his  discussions.  Besides 
the  city's  reputation  for  debilitat- 
ing heat  and  humidity,  there  were 
old  fears  of  yellow  fever  and  ma- 
laria that  had  not  yet  been  laid  to 
rest.  Wilson  thought  that  it 
would  be  undesirable  to  attempt 
any  summer  work;  "I  have  been 
very  healthy  all  my  life  but  I  con- 
fess very  hot  weather  makes  me 
very  limp  and  unable  to  do 
much,"  he  wrote.' 

Prospective  members  of  the 
faculty  considered  isolation  from 
other  centers  of  learning  to  be  an- 


The  Formative  Years 


45 


other  drawback.  Scholars  engaged 
in  research  wanted  to  be  able  to 
discuss  their  findings  with  others 
in  their  fields,  and  as  yet  Texas 
had  few  such  colleagues  to  offer. 
Bevan  expressed  an  interest  m 
participating  in  the  launching  of 
a  new  school  with  fine  propects, 
but  the  advantages  of  his  post 
in  London  were  too  great.  When 
Bevan  finally  turned  Lovett  down, 
the  only  reasons  he  gave  were 
"fear  for  the  health  of  my  chil- 
dren and  doubts  as  to  their  edu- 
cation." Texas  still  seemed  part 
of  the  frontier  to  many 
Europeans.' 

It  appears  that  Lovett  tried  to 
hire  at  salaries  on  the  low  side, 
but  the  market  was  unusual.  He 
had  to  sell  the  idea  of  the  new 
Institute  to  prospective  candi- 
dates as  much  as  they  had  to  sell 
their  qualifications  to  him.  Bevan 
spoke  of  outside  sources  of  in- 
come that  were  available  in  En- 
gland but  not  in  TexaS;  he  did 
not  think  that  Lovett  offered 
enough  inducement  to  leave  the 
old  associations.  Wilson  negoti- 
ated not  only  for  a  higher  salary 
than  the  one  offered  but  also  for  a 
research  assistant  and,  at  times 
during  the  discussions,  a  house. 

In  the  end,  Lovett  had  to  pay 
well  to  attract  good  men  from 
abroad.  He  wrote  later  that  the 
trustees  adopted  uniformity  of 
neither  compensation  nor  rank, 
and  that  is  evident  in  the  final 
salary  schedules.  For  the  first  few 
years  professors  earned  between 
$4,000  and  $6,000  a  year,  as- 
sistant professors  between  $1,200 
and  $3,600,  and  instructors  be- 
tween $900  and  $1,500.  This  was 
not  out  of  line  with  what  Har- 


vard was  paying  its  faculty  at  that 
time,  although  the  bottom  range 
of  the  assistant  professors'  salary 
was  low.  President  Lovett  re- 
ceived $10,000  in  1 91 2,  plus  lodg- 
ing for  himself  and  his  family, 
which  included  Mrs.  Lovett  and 
three  children,  Adelaide,  Henry 
Malcolm,  and  Laurence  Alex- 
ander, who  had  moved  to  Hous- 
ton early  in  1909." 

Research-minded  men  like 
Wilson  were  somewhat  con- 
cerned that  they  would  not  have 
enough  time  to  devote  to  re- 
search in  a  new  school.  Wilson 
expected  a  lot  of  work  connected 
with  organization  and  establish- 
ment but  thought  that  a  year  or 
two  would  be  sufficient  to  get  his 
department  properly  started.  The 
teaching  load  was  also  bound  to 
be  heavy  until  more  professors 
were  hired,  although  some  fac- 
ulty members  were  even  more 
annoyed  at  having  to  teach  lower- 
division  courses.  Teaching  begin- 
ning students  had  its  special 
problems,  among  them  boredom 
for  the  professor.  A  few  teachers 
had  other  prejudices  as  well.  For 
example,  mathematician  Griffith 
C.  Evans,  recommended  by  Ital- 
ian mathematician  Volterra,  did 
not  particularly  look  forward  to 
teaching  engineering  students.' 

Despite  these  difficulties.  Pres- 
ident Lovett  managed  to  as- 
semble a  faculty  of  considerable 
promise.  Present  for  duty  the 
first  year  as  professor  of  physics 
was  Harold  A.  Wilson,  Fellow  of 
the  Royal  Society,  Fellow  of  Trin- 
ity College,  Cambridge,  former 
professor  at  King's  College,  Lon- 
don, and  research  professor  of 
physics  at  McGill.  Besides  Lov- 


ett, who  was  listed  as  professor 
of  mathematics,  there  was  one 
other  full  professor,  Thomas 
Lindsey  Blayney,  who  had  earned 
his  Ph.D.  at  Heidelberg  Univer- 
sity and  was  professor  of  Euro- 
pean literature  and  the  history  of 
European  art  at  Central  Univer- 
sity in  Kentucky.  Blayney  would 
teach  German  at  Rice. 

Lovett's  only  assistant  pro- 
fessor was  Griffith  C.  Evans, 
Sheldon  Fellow  at  Harvard  Uni- 
versity. His  field  was  mathemat- 
ics, and  his  Harvard  professors 
had  given  him  excellent  recom- 
mendations. He  wrote  that  he 
hoped  to  get  a  position  at  a  "re- 
spectable" university  but  did  not 
have  any  good  offers  until  two 
came  at  once,  one  from  Rice  and 
one  from  Yale.  He  chose  Rice." 

Instructors  included  Philip  H. 
Arbuckle,  former  director  of  ath- 
letics at  Southwestern  Univer- 
sity, who  was  to  develop  an  ath- 
letic program  and  teach  English  if 
necessary;  electrical  engineer 
Francis    E.    Johnson,    previously 
with  the  British  Columbia  Electric 
Railway  Company;  John  T.  Mc- 
Cants,  a  Yale  graduate  who  had 
been  Lovett's  private  secretary 
since  19 10  and  who  would  teach 
English;  and  William  Ward  Wat- 
kin,  with  his  degree  in  architec- 
ture from  the  University  of  Penn- 
sylvania, who  stayed  to  establish 
the  architecture  department  after 
supervising  construction  of  the 
first  buildings  for  Cram,  Goodhue 
and  Ferguson.  William  F.  Edwards 
was  named  lecturer  in  chemistry; 
he  had  been  president  of  the  Uni- 
versity of  Washington. 

Listed  as  members  of  the  fac- 
ulty but  not  present  for  the  first 


46 


35-  The  first  faculty  with  board  members,  1912.  Left  to  right:  Wilham  F.  Edwards,  Francis  E.  Johnson,  Thomas 
Lindsey  Blayney.  Phihp  H.  Arbuckle.  Edgar  Odell  Lovett.  Benjamin  Botts  Rice.  William  Ward  Watkin,  Emanuel 
Raphael,  Griffith  C.  Evans,  lames  E.  McAshan,  John  T.  McCants.  lames  Addison  Baker.  Ir..  Harold  A.  Wilson. 


year  were  Percy  I.  Daniell  and 
lulian  S.  Huxley.  I.  ].  Thomson 
had  recommended  Daniell  for  ap- 
plied mathematics;  Daniell  had 
been  the  last  senior  Wrangler  (for 
special  first  class  honors  in  math- 
ematics) at  Cambridge.  Huxley,  a 
biologist,  was  the  grandson  of 


Thomas  H.  Huxley,  the  well- 
known  defender  of  the  Darwin- 
ian theory,  lulian  Huxley  was 
also  a  scholar  of  Balliol  College 
and  university  lecturer  at  Oxford. 
Daniell  and  Huxley  were  listed 
as  research  associates  in  191 2 
and  received  traveling  fellow- 


ships of  $1,000  each  from  the  In- 
stitute for  that  school  year.  They 
also  had  three-year  appointments 
as  assistant  professors  with  the 
Institute;  specific  appointments 
appear  to  have  been  given  only  to 
them." 


47 


The  Classes  Begin 

That  other  necessity  of  a  univer- 
sity— students — appeared  on  the 
day  of  matriculation,  September 
23,  1912.  Fifty-nine  young  men 
and  women  made  their  way  out 
to  the  end  of  Main  Street  to  regis- 
ter at  the  new  school.  President 
Lovett  turned  matriculation  into 
another  ceremony.  After  registra- 
tion, the  students,  faculty,  trust- 
ees, and  many  visitors  who  had 
come  to  see  the  first  day  of  the 
Institute  gathered  in  the  Faculty 
Chamber  of  the  Administration 
Building  to  hear  an  address  by 
Lovett. 


The  president's  matriculation 
address  in  1912  was  the  begin- 
ning of  a  Rice  tradition.  Lovett 
said  later  that  he  thought  it  only 
appropriate  to  address  the  new 
first  class,  and  he  prepared  his  re- 
marks with  great  care.  In  191 3  he 
thought  it  just  as  well  to  repeat 
the  performance,  and  by  1914  the 
matriculation  address  had  be- 
come a  custom.  So  also  was  the 
handshake  with  each  student  at 
the  conclusion  of  the  address. 
Lovett  missed  only  one  matricu- 
lation address,  in  1937,  when  he 
did  not  return  in  time  from  a  trip 
to  Europe;  he  had  to  be  content 
with  mailing  it  to  the  school 


newspaper  for  publication.  The 
speech  became  famous  for  its 
high  idealism  and  classical  allu- 
sions and  for  Lovett's  felicity 
with  words,  an  ability  recognized 
by  all  who  heard  him  or  who  read 
his  written  prose.  Trustee  A.  S. 
Cleveland  later  remarked  that 
when  the  board  needed  to  write  a 
memorial  or  another  announce- 
ment, they  always  asked  Lovett 
to  compose  it,  and  "concern  for 
adequate  expression  vanishe|d|." 
The  matriculation  address,  how- 
ever, did  not  always  come  easily 
to  Lovett.  He  wrote  in  1935  that 
the  thought  of  another  speech 
gave  him  "a  sickening  jolt,  for  in 


36.  Registration  day  for  the  first  Rice  Institute  students,  September  2},  191 2. 


48 


The  Formative  Years 


|une  I  am  utterly  bankrupt  m 
ideas  and  always  m  despair  of 
ever  bemj^  able  to  think  out  a 
twenty-minute  matriculation  ad- 
dress again.'"* 

Classes  began  the  next  day, 
September  24.  The  students  in 
the  first  class  soon  numbered 
seventy-seven,  and  approximately 
one-third  of  them  were  women. 
Most  of  the  students  had  come 
from  the  Houston  area,  but  there 
were  a  few  from  such  places  as 
Weatherford,  San  Angelo,  Cisco, 
and  Crockett,  Texas,  one  from 
Lake  Charles,  Louisiana,  and,  ac- 
cording to  the  191 5  catalog,  even 
one  from  San  Diego,  California. 
Admission  requirements  were 
not  stringent  by  the  standards  of 
the  1980s,  but  they  were  difficult 
enough  to  meet  in  19 12.  A  cer- 
tificate of  graduation  from  an  ac- 
credited public  or  private  high 
school  or  successful  examination 
in  the  entrance  subjects  was  only 
the  beginning.  In  addition  to 
character  references,  a  student 
also  needed  fourteen  high  school 
units  (a  unit  representing  a  course 
of  study  pursued  five  hours  a 
week  for  an  academic  year). 
Three  units  were  to  be  in  En- 
glish, two-and-a-half  in  mathe- 
matics, two  in  history,  and  three 
in  one  foreign  language  or  two  in 
each  of  two  modern  languages. 
Applicants  who  did  not  have  the 
required  units  could  be  admitted, 
on  condition  that  they  remove 
the  deficiency  by  course  work  or 
tests  before  they  could  be  ac- 
cepted as  candidates  for  a  degree." 

Since  there  were  so  few  faculty 
members,  all  freshmen  took  the 
same  subjects,  with  the  excep- 
tion of  engineering  students,  who 


took  an  extra  course  in  engineer- 
ing drawing,  and  architects,  who 
took  architectural  work  in  place 
of  chemistry.  With  these  excep- 
tions, everyone  took  English, 
German,  physics,  mathematics, 
and  chemistry.  It  was  a  full  load. 
Here  began  the  infamous  Math 
100,  required  of  all  students  no 
matter  what  their  majors.  In  191s 
Math  100  consisted  of  trig- 
onometry, analytic  geometry,  and 
advanced  algebra;  but  by  the 
1920s,  at  the  latest,  calculus  had 
been  added  (some  said  it  took 
over),  and  the  tales  of  taking 
Math  100  three  or  four  times  be- 
came well  known. 

Physics  100  under  H.  A.  Wil- 
son was  no  easy  subject,  either. 
Wilson  did  not  really  have  that 
special  quality  needed  to  teach 
beginners,  although  he  was  excel- 
lent with  upper-level  students. 
One  alumna  of  the  class  of  191 8 
reports  that  Wilson  lectured 
twice  a  week,-  on  Fridays  instruc- 
tor Claude  Heaps  came  in  and 
taught  the  physics  on  which  Wil- 
son had  lectured  the  other  two 
days.'" 

President  Lovett  was  deter- 
mined to  make  Rice  a  true  uni- 
versity and  to  uphold  generally 
accepted  university  standards. 
Therefore,  the  instruction  and 
work  required  may  have  been 
somewhat  more  difficult  than 
many  freshmen  expected.  The 
school  year  consisted  of  three 
terms,  the  first  ending  before 
Christmas,  the  second  about  the 
middle  of  March,  and  the  third 
in  June.  By  the  end  of  the  first 
term,  about  twenty  percent  of  the 
first  freshman  class  had  failed  so 
many  of  their  subjects  that  they 


were  asked  to  withdraw.  One  ex- 
planation for  so  many  failures 
was  that  in  many  high  schools 
students  could  be  exempted  from 
examinations  if  their  average 
grades  were  high.  All  students 
coming  to  Rice  were  highly  ranked 
in  their  former  schools  and  thus 
not  accustomed  to  taking  ex- 
aminations. Since  they  did  not 
know  how  to  study  for  them, 
many  failed. 

One  irate  father,  who  had  re- 
ceived one  of  Lovett's  letters  ex- 
plaining that  his  son  would  not 
be  permitted  to  continue  that 
year,  protested  the  school's  ac- 
tion. He  complained  of  the  "in- 
calculable injury"  done  to  the 
"boys"  who  failed,  to  their  par- 
ents, and  to  the  community;  he 
claimed  that  his  son's  ambitions 
had  been  crushed.  When  Lovett 
replied  that  the  Institute's  aspira- 
tions of  service  and  scholarship 
demanded  maintenance  of  high 
standards  and  that  he  believed 
the  student  would  persist  in  his 
academic  plans,  the  father  was 
not  satisfied.  He  wanted  a  second 
chance  for  those  who  had  failed 
an  "exceptionally  and  unexpec- 
tedly severe"  examination  com- 
ing after  such  a  brief  experi- 
mental period,  part  of  which  was 
"largely  devoted  to  football."  He 
did  not  think  that  William  Marsh 
Rice  would  have  been  so  strict. 
Lovett,  however,  stuck  by  his 
standards;  the  students  were  not 
readmitted  until  the  next  school 
year,  when  they  had  to  begin  the 
course  of  study  all  over." 

Those  students  who  survived 
their  first  year  and  those  who 
came  in  later  years  had  to  con- 
tend with  other  difficulties.  Sim- 


The  Formative  Years 


49 


ply  getting  to  the  Institute  for 
class  could  be  arduous  for  men 
who  lived  off  campus  and  for  the 
women,  all  of  whom  lived  off 
campus.  Main  Street  was  paved 
out  to  Eagle  Street  (where  a  Sears 
store  is  now  located);  a  dirt  and 
shell  road  ran  from  there  to  the 
Institute  and  beyond.  Two  cattle 
gates  barred  the  path,  and  pas- 
sengers could  make  themselves 
useful  to  the  driver  of  a  car  by 
opening  and  shutting  the  gates. 
Passengers  might  also  be  of  help 
if  the  car  got  stuck  in  a  hole  or  in 
the  frequent  mud.  A  possibly 
apocryphal  story  is  told  about  a 
farmer  who  used  to  water  the 
road  from  time  to  time  so  he 
could  make  a  little  extra  money 
pulling  cars  out  of  the  mud. 

For  those  with  no  transporta- 
tion of  their  own,  there  was  a 
trolley  line.  The  South  End  street- 
car came  out  Fannin  Street  to  Ea- 
gle, where  those  bound  for  the 
Institute  had  to  change  to  a  shut- 
tle car  known  by  students  as  the 
"Toonerville  trolley."  It  ran  every 
hour  on  a  projection  of  Fannm 
Street  to  Bellaire  Boulevard  (now 
Fiolcombe  Boulevard)  and  turned 
west  there  to  the  isolated  village 
of  Bellaire.  Once  passengers  had 
disembarked  at  the  Institute, 
they  faced  another  obstacle  if  it 
had  been  raining.  Mud  and  stand- 
ing water  often  stretched  from 
the  raised  track  to  the  entrance 
gate.  A  wooden  walkway  was 
built  over  the  water,  but  getting 
to  the  Administration  Building 
could  still  be  messy.  If  students 
missed  the  trolley,  their  only  re- 
course was  to  walk  out  the  track. 
The  first  yearbook  paid  tribute  to 
the  weary  marchers  with  a  car- 


toon in  which  the  motorman 
cried,  "Doggone  it!  There's  al- 
ways a  cow  or  a  professor  on  the 
track." 

Those  with  early  classes  some- 
times had  trouble  getting  to  Ea- 
gle in  time  to  catch  the  trolley. 
Once,  an  alumna  relates,  she  and 
three  or  four  others  were  stand- 
ing there  late  wondering  what  to 
do,  when  Dr.  Lovett,  also  late, 
came  up.  He  arranged  to  get  a  jit- 
ney and  invited  the  students  to 
ride  with  him.  Lovett  was  often 
on  the  trolley  with  the  students, 
but  this  jitney  ride  was  some- 
what more  exciting  for  them 
than  the  usual  shuttle." 


The  Position  of  Women 

Women  had  special  problems 
at  the  Institute.  In  the  first 
place,  some  were  not  so  sure  that 
they  were  wanted.  The  charter 
called  for  "a  thorough  polytech- 
nic school,  for  males  and  fe- 
males," so  women  had  to  be 
admitted;  but  no  particular  provi- 
sions were  made  for  them.  Lovett 
later  proclaimed  his  pride  in  the 
"unusually  fine  group  of  young 
women"  who  bore  "their  full 
share  in  making  and  maintaining 
the  good  name  of  the  Rice  Insti- 
tute," but  he  also  thought  the 
best  form  of  academic  organiza- 
tion was  found  in  places  such  as 
Harvard  and  Oxford  where  sepa- 
rate women's  undergraduate  col- 
leges existed.  If  Lovett  and  some 
of  the  other  faculty  members 
were  disinclined  to  teach  women, 
their  attitude  might  be  traced  to 
their  own  careers  in  all-male  in- 
stitutions, as  both  students  and 


teachers.  Some  women  noticed  a 
certain  amount  of  nervousness  in 
their  male  instructors  who  had  to 
face  a  room  full  of  female  stu- 
dents not  much  younger  than 
they  were." 

The  curriculum  certainly  pro- 
vided no  "women's"  courses. 
The  absence  of  such  courses  as 
home  economics  drew  some  crit- 
icism around  town,  the  Chroni- 
cle claiming  that  an  institution 
that  did  not  take  into  account  the 
"inclinations"  and  "leanings"  of 
women  for  courses  in  the  domes- 
tic sciences,  art,  and  pedagogy 
was  not  truly  coeducational. 
President  Lovett  is  reported  to 
have  considered  such  courses  to 
be  fads  and  out  of  keeping  with 
the  aims  of  the  Institute.  Lei  Red 
'i6  tells  the  story  that  when  her 
mother  called  the  school  to  find 
out  what  the  course  offerings 
would  be  and  heard  about  all  the 
science  and  mathematics,  she 
commented  that  they  did  not 
sound  like  what  a  girl  would  like 
to  take.  The  person  on  the  phone 
at  the  Institute  replied,  "No,  it 
really  doesn't.  We  don't  encour- 
age girls  to  come."  Her  mother 
answered  that  they  could  come  if 
they  wanted  to,  and  Miss  Red's 
father  took  her  out  to  the  campus 
on  the  day  it  opened." 

Whatever  the  Chronicle's 
claims  about  inclinations  and 
leanings,  it  appears  that  few 
women,  if  any,  felt  deprived  be- 
cause there  were  no  "women's" 
courses.  And  despite  the  attitude 
of  some  of  the  professors,  all 
courses  were  open  to  any  student 
who  could  pass  muster.  Everyone 
took  the  same  subjects,  at  the 
same  speed  and  with  the  same 


5° 


The  Formative  Years 


intensity.  Women  may  not  have 
felt  over-welcome  on  first  arrival, 
and  at  the  first  registration  some 
did  not  sign  up  for  a  full  sched- 
ule. But  any  woman,  or  man, 
who  wanted  a  thorough  educa- 
tion could  find  It  at  the  Institute.'' 

At  any  rate,  the  women  were 
there.  No  dormitories  were  built 
for  them,  and  therefore  they  had 
to  live  off  campus;  but  so  did 
many  of  the  men.  A  large  room 
was  set  aside  at  the  north  end  of 
the  second  floor  of  the  Admin- 
istration Building  (where  the 
provost's  office  is  now  located), 
and  there  the  women  could  study, 
relax,  or  eat  lunch.  They  could 
also  go  to  the  Commons  to  lunch 
with  the  men;  but  Sara  Stratford, 
stenographer  in  the  president's 
office,  went  along  to  chaperone. 
Mrs.  Stratford  also  made  certain 
that  all  women  were  off  campus 
by  5:00  P.M.,  when  she  left  to  go 
home.  Young  ladies  simply  did 
not  stay  on  campus  by  them- 
selves. Neither  were  any  benches 
placed  invitingly  under  shade 
trees — for  fear  that  two  students 
of  opposite  sexes  might  sit  to- 
gether on  them. 

For  reasons  unspoken  but 
easily  conjectured,  classes  were 
divided  by  gender  that  first  year. 
When  the  women  came  out  of 
class,  the  men  would  line  up  on 
both  sides  of  the  hall  or  cloister 
to  watch,  to  the  great  excitement 
of  all.  But  the  second  year  saw  an 
end  to  this  practice  of  segrega- 
tion, probably  because  of  the  in- 
creased enrollment  and  small 
faculty  but  also  possibly  because 
the  women  had  proved  that  they 
could  keep  up  with  the  men  aca- 
demically. (However,  there  would 


continue  to  be  some  sections  of 
Math  100  only  for  women.)  That 
second  year  saw  a  continuation 
of  what  became  known  as  "clois- 
ter courses,"  or  "Sallyport  100" 
(when  students  gathered  in  the 
cloisters  for  conversation),  and 
the  cloisters  and  the  Sallyport  of 
the  Administration  Building  be- 
came and  remained  the  center 
of  campus  student  life.  In  191 5 
Mrs.  Stratford  was  appointed  ad- 
viser to  women,  but  the  duties 
of  her  office  were  unclear;  she 
seems  to  have  been  more  of  a 
chaperone  than  anything  else." 


Early  Campus  Life 

The  first  occupants  of  on-campus 
residential  halls  must  have  felt 
to  some  extent  that  they  were 
camping  out.  When  classes 
started,  the  dormitory  building 
was  still  unfinished;  the  young 
men  were  only  able  to  move  in  as 
rooms  were  completed.  The  first 
meals  were  prepared  on  kerosene 
stoves  and  were  served  in  kitchen 
staff  quarters  on  the  second  floor 
of  the  Commons,  because  the 
floor  had  not  yet  been  laid  on  the 
main  level.  Tables  were  made  by 
spreading  planks  across  saw- 
horses.  The  dining  room  floor 
was  completed  in  time  for  the 
formal  opening  banquet,  how- 
ever; tired  of  creamed  chipped 
beef,  the  boys  were  happy  to  see 
the  real  kitchen  in  operation." 
The  first  four  classes  began 
many  traditions  at  Rice.  Presi- 
dent Lovett  seemed  anxious  that 
the  school  have  the  right  tradi- 
tions, that  no  practice  start  that 
anyone  would  later  regret.  One  of 


the  first  traditions  established 
was  the  honor  system  for  exam- 
inations. Each  student  had  to 
sign  the  pledge,  "On  my  honor,  I 
have  neither  given  nor  received 
any  aid  on  this  examination,"  at 
the  end  of  each  test.  The  student- 
elected  Honor  Council  decided 
cases  of  infractions  as  proclaimed 
in  the  Honor  Council  constitu- 
tion. The  most  extreme  penalty 
available  to  the  council  was  a 
recommendation  that  the  of- 
fender be  expelled.  Final  disposi- 
tion was  in  the  hands  of  the  pres- 
ident. This  system,  only  slightly 
modified,  is  still  in  use  today." 

In  the  residential  halls,  men 
had  a  great  deal  of  freedom  for 
the  first  two  years.  President 
Lovett  referred  to  the  halls  as 
gentlemen's  clubs,  regulated  by 
no  other  code  than  "the  common 
understanding  by  which  gen- 
tlefolk determine  their  conduct 
of  life."  Numbers,  however,  made 
a  difference;  and  some  of  the 
more  obstreperous  students,  tast- 
ing freedom  from  home  for  the 
first  time,  necessitated  establish- 
ment of  the  Hall  Committee. 
Theoretically  the  Honor  Council 
had  general  authority  over  the 
students,  but  in  practice  it  con- 
fined itself  to  violations  of  the 
honor  code  as  applied  to  pa- 
pers and  examinations.  The  Hall 
Committee  ran  the  dormitories, 
making  and  enforcing  rules  by 
which  the  "gentlemen's  clubs" 
were  to  run.' 

Lovett  had  seen  the  honor  sys- 
tem in  practice  at  both  the  Uni- 
versity of  Virginia  and  Princeton 
University.  He  had  also  observed 
Woodrow  Wilson's  attempt  to 
abolish  exclusive  student  clubs  at 


The  Formative  Years 


51 


Princeton.  Perhaps  because  of 
this  experience,  along  with  the 
divisiveness  caused  on  some 
campuses  by  the  rivalries  be- 
tween fraternities  and  indepen- 
dents, and  the  democratic  tenor 
of  the  times,  Lovett  outlawed  so- 
cial fraternities  and  sororities  at 
Rice.  The  big  national  organiza- 
tions would  never  come;  instead, 
the  students  formed  organiza- 
tions of  their  own.  The  first  were 
the  Young  Men's  Christian  Asso- 
ciation and  the  Young  Women's 
Christian  Association,  followed 
by  the  Menorah  Society  for  Jew- 
ish students.  To  challenge  the 
mind,  the  students  established 
three  "literary  societies,"  the 
Owl  Literary  Society  and  the 
Riceonian  Literary  and  Debating 
Society  for  men,  and  the  Eliza- 
beth Baldwin  Literary  Society — 
named  for  the  founder's  second 
wife — for  women.  In  the  begin- 
ning, these  were  true  debating 
and  literary  societies,  holding  in- 
tersociety  contests,  reviewing 
books,  and  reading  essays.  Eliza- 
beth Kalb,  class  of  1916,  won  the 
state  oratorical  contest  in  1915- 

While  the  men's  literary  so- 
cieties did  not  survive  long,  the 
women's  did,  and  the  EBLS  split 
in  1919  to  form  another  "lit,"  as 
these  organizations  came  to  be 
known:  the  Pallas  Athene  Liter- 
ary Society  (PALS).  In  1924  an- 
other group  of  women  formed  the 
OWLS,  the  Owen  Wister  Literary 
Society — named  for  the  popular 
author  of  The  Virginian.  Until 
1 9 1 5  —  1 6  any  woman  who  wanted 
to  join  the  EBLS  could  do  so,  on 
her  own  initiative.  New  member- 
ship was  closed  to  seniors  that 
year,  on  the  grounds  that  if  a 


#    ^«^ 


r'i(» 


37.  The  Owl  Literary  Society,  1916. 


38.  Tlie  Elizabeth  Baldwin  Literary  Society,  1916. 


52 


The  Ft)rmative  Years 


*     ^A«      t 


39.  The  Rice  Institute  Ln'^uiccnng  Society,  1916. 


;   i 


40.  The  Women's  Tennis  Chib.  1916. 


woman  had  heen  at  Riee  and  had 
not  participated  in  the  society  be- 
fore her  senior  year,  she  must  not 
be  genuinely  interested.'   Before 
long,  the  organizations  began  to 
invite  women  to  join  during  their 
freshman  year  and  became  more 
sorority-like.  What  had  begun  as 
a  literary  group  would  end  as  an 
almost  totally  social  organization. 

By  191 6  there  were  a  number 
of  clubs  and  organizations  on 
campus,  some  academic,  some 
social.  Rice  engineering  students 
had  formed  the  Engineering  So- 
ciety in  1914,  and  the  architects 
and  biologists  soon  organized 
groups  in  their  own  disciplines. 
German  students  founded  the 
Goethe  Verein,  and  French  stu- 
dents formed  Les  Hiboux.  For 
women  there  were  the  Choral 
Club  and  the  Tennis  Club.  An 
early  addition  to  the  Rice  scene 
was  the  Rice  Band,  twenty-one 
members  strong  in  19 16.  On  lan- 
uary  15,  19 16,  the  Thresher  be- 
gan publication  as  the  official 
student  newspaper.  Established 
through  the  literary  societies,  the 
paper  secured  enough  support 
from  students  and  city  merchants 
to  be  published  biweekly.  Wil- 
liam M.  Standish  was  the  first 
editor-in-chief  and  James  R  Mark- 
ham  the  first  business  manager. 
In  191 6  the  first  graduating  class 
published  the  first  yearbook, 
edited  by  Ervin  F.  Kalb,  with 
Hildegarde  Elizabeth  Kalb  as  as- 
sistant editor  and  William  Max 
Nathan  as  business  manager.  The 
seniors  chose  the  name  Cam- 
panile for  the  yearbook,  from  the 
landmark  campanile/smokestack 
of  the  Mechanical  Laboratory." 

Although  Dr.  Lovett  wanted 


The  Formative  Years 


S3 


the  residential  halls  to  become 
individual  social  units  similar  to 
Oxford's  colleges  (without  taking 
over  the  university's  academic 
role),  the  Institute's  dormitories 
did  not  develop  an  organization 
beyond  the  Hall  Committee.  The 
only  associations  unique  to  one 
hall  or  another  were  some  intra- 
mural sports  teams,  but  these 
were  plebeian  compared  with 
Lovett's  noble  vision  of  college 
debating  or  musical  organiza- 
tions. Instead,  the  student  body 
split  horizontally  by  classes.  The 
classes  received  the  loyalty  and 
energy  that  Lovett  had  hoped  to 
see  in  the  separate  halls;  and 
with  the  arrival  of  the  class  of 
1917  in  191 3,  a  tradition  began 
that  later  brought  turmoil.  The 
newly  turned  sophomores  found 
it  great  fun  to  haze  freshmen. 
Hazing  consisted  of  pranks 
played  on  male  freshmen  or 
"slimes."  The  term  "slime"  had 
several  possible  origins.  Some 
have  suggested  that  it  was  a  syn- 
onym for  "fish,"  by  which  sobri- 
quet the  Texas  A&M  Aggies 
called  their  freshmen.  Others  say 
that  freshmen  were  thought  just 
to  have  emerged  from  the  primor- 
dial ooze  on  the  way  to  being  civ- 
ilized. Whatever  its  derivation, 
the  name  "slime"  stuck.  Soph- 
omores greeted  freshmen  as  they 
emerged  from  registration  and 
subjected  them  to  a  number  of 
indignities,  such  as  having  their 
faces  painted,  pushing  a  mothball 
in  a  race  across  the  gravel  walks, 
and  other  similar  foolishness. 
Freshmen  had  to  run  errands 
for  sophomores  and  clean  their 
rooms.  In  the  practice  known  as 
"running  the  gauntlet,"  a  fresh- 


man ran  through  a  lane  formed 
by  sophomores,  each  of  whom 
had  a  leather  strap  or  broom 
handle  with  which  he  gave  the 
slime  a  swat.  This  trick  resulted 
in  a  broken  collar  bone  on  one 
occasion,  but  the  sophomores 
paid  the  medical  bills.  The 
administration  did  not  take 
any  action  to  curb  hazing  until 
after  World  War  I.  There  was  no 
hazing  of  women  students  m  the 
beginning." 

Athletic  activities  were  just  as 
much  a  part  of  the  college  scene 
as  were  classes,  examinations, 
and  social  clubs,  and  the  Insti- 
tute's students  were  quick  to  go 
out  for  various  teams.  Rice  ath- 
letics had  started  in  19 12  with 
the  first  class  under  the  direction 
of  Philip  H.  Arbuckle,  who 
taught  English  and  occasionally  a 
history  course  m  addition  to  his 
coaching  duties.  During  the  first 
season  Rice  played  football 
games  against  Houston  and  Or- 
ange high  schools,  Sam  Houston 
Normal  Institute,  Southwestern 
University,  and  Austin  College. 
The  team  finished  the  season 
with  three  victories  and  two  de- 
feats. In  the  process  it  acquired 
the  name  "the  Owls."  A  sugges- 
tion in  the  Houston  Post  that  the 
name  be  "the  Grays"  for  one  of 
the  school  colors  did  not  bear 
fruit,  and  the  team  was  named 
instead  for  the  bird  on  the  Insti- 
tute seal. 

In  that  first  season  the  Rice 
football  team  held  its  own  against 
the  high  schools  and  Sam  Hous- 
ton but  lost  badly  to  the  bigger 
schools.  The  next  year  Rice  had 
its  revenge  against  Southwestern 
and  finished  the  season  of  four 


games  undefeated.  In  19 14  the 
Owls  began  playing  a  full  sched- 
ule in  football  as  an  original 
member  of  the  newly  organized 
Southwest  Conference,-'  and  the 
University  of  Texas  and  Texas 
Ai&M  quickly  became  primary 
rivals.  Rice  beat  the  Aggies  in 
191 5  and  1916,  but  it  was  19 16 
before  the  Owls  managed  even  to 
score  against  Texas,  and  then  the 
final  score  was  16-2.  That  same 
year  the  Owls  also  ran  up  the 
highest  score  in  their  history: 
they  beat  brand-new  Southern 
Methodist  University  146-3.'^ 

As  a  symbol  for  the  team,  stu- 
dents constructed  a  large  canvas 
owl,  which  they  carried  to  the 
games.  It  was  a  tempting  target 
for  those  irrepressible  mascot 
rustlers,  the  Aggies,  who  kid- 
napped it  in  1917  and  took  it 
home  to  College  Station.  Rice 
students  sent  a  private  detective 
to  find  out  the  owl's  location. 
When  he  sent  a  telegram  saying, 
"Sammy  is  fairly  well  and  would 
like  to  see  his  parents  at  eleven 
o'clock,"  the  Rice  mascot  had  a 
name.  Students  organized  the 
Owl  Protective  Society  to  rescue 
Sammy  and  set  off  for  College 
Station,  breaking  into  the  AiSvM 
Armory  and  starting  back  for 
Houston  with  the  bird  as  quickly 
as  they  could.  Their  deed  did  not 
go  undiscovered,  however,  and 
practically  the  whole  Aggie  Ca- 
det Corps  rose  in  pursuit.  The 
Rice  students  had  only  a  couple 
of  cars  for  transportation;  the  Ag- 
gies got  a  train,  caught  up  with 
the  Rice  men,  and  captured  all 
except  four.  Those  four  managed 
to  cut  up  Sammy's  canvas  cover- 
ing and  smuggle  the  skin  back  to 


54 


The  Formative  Years 


41.  Football  team,  1912.  Back  row,  left  to  right;  Oliver  R.  Garnett.  (Louis  J.  0  Smith,  R.  Wyllys  Taylor.  William  M. 
Standish,  Wesley  G.  Mims,  foe  Brigham.  George  Journeay.  Philip  H.  Arbuckle  (coach):  middle  row:  George  K. 
Wilkinson,  George  I.  Goodwin.  Robert  E.  Cummings  (captain).  Clinton  H.  Wooten.  Wilson  T.  Betts-.  from  row:  Rex 
Graham  Aten,  Louis  L.  Farr. 


The  Formative  Years 


55 


42.  Football  team,  1913. 


56 


The  Formative  Years 


43-  Sammy. 


Houston.  Sammy  was  home  once 
again,  but  that  was  not  to  be  his 
last  run-in  with  the  Aggies. 

Other  sports  also  began  early  in 
the  history  of  the  Institute.  In  the 
spring  of  191 3  the  first  baseball 
team  played  a  variety  of  oppo- 
nents from  local  high  schools, 
the  Southern  Pacific  Railroad, 
and  Houston  National  Bank.  In 
1914  Rice  men  participated  in  a 
track  meet.  Basketball  began  in 
lyis,  and  the  Owls  won  the  con- 
ference in  1918.'' 


Further  Faculty 
Appointments 

As  the  student  body  grew  in 
numbers,  so  did  the  faculty.  The 
second  year,  1913-14,  Percy 


44.  Baseball  team.  191^.  Back  row,  left  to  right:  Harry  M.  Bulbrook.  Louis  L. 
Farr.  Elmer  E.  Sbutts  (manager).  William  M.  Standish,  Philip  H.  Arbuckle 
(coach),  Clinton  H.  Wooten,  Gordon  S.  Mayo:  middle  row:  /.  B.  Spiller, 
Robert  E.  Cummings,  Oliver  R.  Garnett  (captain),  (Brantly  C.  >)  Harris. 
Wilson  Betts;  front  row:  Harry  Lee  Hailess.  George  I.  Goodwin. 


45.  Early  track  team,  probably  1916  or  1917. 


The  Formative  Years 


57 


Darnell  and  Julian  Huxley  arrived 
to  assume  their  positions  as  as- 
sistant professors.  Professor  Wil- 
son had  been  helpmg  President 
Lovett  find  good  faculty  members 
in  several  fields,  emphasizing 
that  "unless  we  get  some  really 
first  rate  men,  the  Institute  will 
get  a  poor  reputation  which  will 
take  years  to  live  down."  He  sug- 
gested to  Lovett  that  advertising 
positions  at  better  salaries  than 
were  paid  elsewhere  (or  at  least 
equivalent  ones)  was  an  efficient 
method  of  establishing  the  Insti- 
tute's reputation.  Wilson  also 
lobbied  hard  for  a  second  physi- 
cist, and  Lovett  hired  one  that 
year.  The  new  assistant  profes- 
sor was  another  scholar  recom- 
mended by  J.  J.  Thomson:  Arthur 
Llewelyn  Hughes.'" 

President  Lovett  also  added 
two  full  professors  to  the  staff  in 
humanities:  Albert  L.  Guerard 
from  Stanford  to  establish  the 
French  department,  and  Stockton 
Axson  from  Princeton  to  head 
English,  which  up  to  this  time 
had  consisted  of  McCants,  Coach 


47.  Percy  John  Daniell.  assistant 
professor  of  applied  mathematics. 


Arbuckle  for  a  term,  and  Roy  P. 
Lingle,  an  instructor.  Axson  was 
Woodrow  Wilson's  brother-in-law 
and  was  known  and  loved 
at  Princeton  as  an  ideal  profes- 
sor. His  lectures  at  Rice  soon  be- 
came famous,  especially  those  on 
Shakespeare  with  Axson  reciting 
the  various  parts.  Those  who  saw 
him  said  that  he  veritably  be- 
came Falstaff.  Axson  had  an  un- 
usual arrangement  with  the  Insti- 
tute whereby  he  remained  m  the 
Northeast  for  the  first  term  each 
year  but  taught  the  second  and 
third  terms  at  Rice.'" 

The  191 3 -14  budget  gave 
some  indication  of  the  faculty 
situation,  and  a  letter  from  Pro- 
fessor Wilson  to  Lovett  echoed 
the  needs  of  the  Institute.  Listed 
in  the  budget  in  a  special  column 
marked  "imperative"  were  the 
fields  and  ranks  that  had  to  be 
filled.  Lovett  wanted  professors 
for  chemistry  and  education,  in- 
structors in  physics  and  English, 
and  lecturers  in  history  and  poli- 
tics. Engineering  appears  to  have 
had  special  problems.  Although 


46.  Harold  Albert  Wilson,  professor 
of  physics. 


48.  fulian  Sorell  Huxley,  assistant 
professor  of  biology. 


49.  Arthur  Llewelyn  Hughes, 
assistant  professor  of  physics. 


The  Formative  Years 


50.  Stockton  Axson.  professor  of 
English  literature. 

engineering  was  becoming  rec- 
ognized as  a  valid  college  sub- 
ject, not  just  a  vocational  one, 
there  were  many  academics  who 
claimed  that  it  was  more  a  trade 
than  a  profession  and  as  such 
should  be  taught  on  the  job  in- 
stead of  in  the  classroom.  What- 
ever Lovett  personally  may  have 
thought  about  this  claim,  he  had 
a  firm  grasp  of  local  demands, 
which  called  for  an  engineering 
course  at  the  Institute.  He  said 
later  that  because  of  these  con- 
siderations, he  had  to  introduce 
engineering  courses  somewhat 
earlier  than  he  had  originally 
planned.  Since  students  who 
wanted  to  be  engineers  were  ad- 
mitted with  the  first  class,  the  In- 
stitute would  need  an  engineer- 
ing faculty  for  the  third  year.  In 
191 3  Wilson  indicated  the  need 
for  a  good  engineer  to  take  charge 
of  outfitting  the  Mechanical  Lab- 
oratory, and  he  forecast  failure  for 
the  engineering  course  if  an  engi- 
neer was  not  hired  soon.'" 


51.  Albert  Leon  Guerard.  professor  of 
French. 

For  the  third  year,  President 
Lovett  was  able  to  make  some 
important  appointments  to  the 
faculty  but  still  did  not  have  all 
the  professors  that  he  needed. 
Radoslav  A.  Tsanoff,  beloved  by 
many  generations  of  Rice  stu- 
dents for  his  idealism  and  intel- 
lect, came  from  Clark  University 
to  be  assistant  professor  of  phi- 
losophy. Claude  W  Heaps,  a 
Princeton  Phi  Beta  Kappa  with  a 
"tremenjous"  (his  favorite  word) 
sense  of  humor,''  was  added  to 
the  physics  department.  Clyde  C. 
Glascock  became  assistant  pro- 
fessor of  modern  languages,  Rolf 
F.  Weber  of  Berlin  was  appointed 
to  instruct  in  German,  and  Wil- 
liam C.  Graustein  joined  the 
mathematicians  as  an  instructor. 
Lovett  finally  found  a  historian, 
Robert  G.  Caldwell,  who  held  a 
Ph.D.  from  Princeton,  and  also 
hired  two  engineers:  Herbert  K. 
Humphrey,  instructor  in  electri- 
cal engineering,  and  Joseph  H. 
Pound,  instructor  in  mechanical 


52.  Radoslav  Andrea  Tsanoff, 
assistant  professor  of  philosophy. 

engineering.  Edwin  E.  Reinke 
was  to  join  Huxley  in  biology 
as  an  instructor;  and  Joseph 
Ilott  Davies,  a  glassblower  and 
research  assistant  for  Huxley,  was 
brought  from  England.  (After 
1940,  Davies's  theatrical  Bi- 
ology 100  classes  would  be 
fondly  remembered  by  many  Rice 
graduates.) 

During  1915  Lovett  hired  a 
number  of  new  faculty  members, 
among  them  Hermann  J.  Muller, 
who  would  later  win  a  Nobel 
Prize  in  biology  (although  not 
at  Rice),  and  cheerful  Harry  B. 
Weiser,  who  would  do  important 
work  in  colloidal  chemistry." 
That  same  year  Samuel  G.  Mc- 
Cann,  noted  for  his  "pink"  hair, 
became  a  fellow  in  history.  (He 
would  later  become  an  instructor 
after  he  received  his  M.A.  in  19 17 
and  a  year  later  would  become 
registrar  as  well.)  One  of  Rice's 
most  unusual  fellows,  William  J. 
Sidis,  also  arrived  in  191s-  A 
child  prodigy  from  Harvard,  Sidis 


The  Formative  Years 


59 


53.  Claude  William  Heaps, 
instructor  in  physics. 

had  to  teach  students  older  than 
he  was  in  his  mathematics  class, 
and  the  women  teased  him  a 
great  deal.  He  fled  back  to  the 
East  in  1916  and  in  a  newspaper 
interview  complained  of  his 
treatment  at  the  hands  of  Texas 
girls."  Lovett  continued  to  add  to 
the  faculty  until  World  War  I  dis- 
rupted the  university  and  the 
country. 

Life  for  the  new  faculty  mem- 
bers could  be  an  adventure  in  its 
own  way.  Most  of  the  men  were 
new  to  Texas  and  found  the  cul- 
tural and  climatological  shocks 
memorable,  although  some  were 
happy  to  be  away  from  northern 
winters.  The  faculty  socialized  as 
well  as  studied.  Belle  Heaps  re- 
members that  she  and  her  hus- 
band, Claude  Heaps,  exchanged 
dinner  parties  with  other  young 
faculty  couples  and  attended  a 
spate  of  elaborate  teas.  Mrs.  Lov- 
ett was  mindful  of  the  advantages 
of  good  community  relations  and 
gave  elegant  receptions  for  Hous- 


S4.  Henry  Boyer  Weiser.  instructor  m 
chemistry. 

tonians  so  they  could  meet  fac- 
ulty families.  The  faculty  and 
students  got  together  for  parties 
at  the  bay  or  for  trips  down  the 
ship  channel.  Faculty  bachelors 
did  not  neglect  their  social  life, 
either.  They  dated  some  of  the 
women  students,  and  several 
young  professors  married  women 
out  of  the  first  classes. 

Faculty  bachelors  were  invited 
to  live  on  campus  in  the  tower 
above  the  Commons;  Griffith 
Evans  was  the  first  inhabitant. 
He  occasionally  invited  students 
to  his  rooms  for  conversation  and 
coffee — he  had  the  first  instant 
coffee  some  had  ever  seen — or  of- 
fered them  his  tickets  to  concerts 
and  plays  when  he  could  not  at- 
tend. Huxley,  Hughes,  and  sev- 
eral graduate  students,  including 
the  shy  but  courtly  Hubert  E. 
Bray  (who  would  later  become  a 
math  professor  at  Rice),  soon 
joined  Evans  in  the  faculty  tower. 

The  British  contingent  often 
congregated  behind  a  curtain  in 


55.  Samuel  Glenn  McCarm, 
instructor  in  history. 

the  biology  laboratory  for  four 
o'clock  tea,  and  some  of  their 
conversations  could  well  have  re- 
volved around  the  differences  be- 
tween English  and  American 
college  life.  Huxley  and  Hughes 
wrote  Lovett  in  August  19 14  to 
suggest  some  improvements  in 
the  American  form.  First,  the 
food  in  the  Commons  was  "very 
monotonous  and  often  ill  cooked." 
They  suggested  minimizing  the 
use  of  canned  fruits  and  vegeta- 
bles and  serving  better  quality 
bread  and  meat.  Not  long  after 
the  professorial  complaint,  some 
students  staged  a  food  riot  to 
make  the  point  more  forcefully. 
Huxley  and  Hughes's  second  sug- 
gestion concerned  living  accom- 
modations. English  colleges  had 
janitors  and  special  arrangements 
for  faculty  meals.  The  two  pro- 
fessors found  much  of  their  time 
being  spent  not  on  research  and 
private  work  but  on  "petty  du- 
ties" that  they  thought  could 
be  more  quickly  and  more  prop- 


6o 


The  Formative  Years 


erly  performed  by  an  attendant. 
Third,  they  asked  for  a  high  table 
for  the  faculty  in  the  Commons. 
Huxley  added  a  fourth  to  these 
requests  in  November  when  he 
asked  for  a  common  room  for  the 
faculty,  a  place  to  get  away  from 
the  students  and  relax.  He  under- 
stood America's  preoccupation 
with  democracy,  but  he  thought 
that  the  lack  of  a  faculty  room 
discrimmated  against  the  faculty. 
He  wanted  Rice  to  recognize 
what  Oxford  and  Cambridge  al- 
ready understood — that  "faculty 
were  adults  and  due  some  priv- 
ileges which  students  did  not 
merit."  Huxley,  Hughes,  and 
Evans  soon  moved  off  campus 
and  built  a  house,  nicknamed  the 
"Bach,"  about  three-quarters  of  a 
mile  away.  Evans  invited  another 
bachelor  to  stay,  and  this  house- 
keeping arrangement  seemed  to 
meet  their  needs  for  a  while." 


Other  Changes 

As  student  enrollment  increased 
and  the  faculty  grew  in  numbers, 
more  buildings  were  added  to  the 
campus.  The  handsome  turreted 
Physics  Building  with  its  adjoin- 
ing amphitheater  was  completed 
in  1914,  and  two  more  dormitory 
buildings  were  constructed:  East 
Hall  in  1914  and  West  Hall  in 
1916. 

Thanks  to  the  efforts  of  a  man 
who  became  a  Rice  institution, 
the  grounds  also  began  to  look 
like  more  than  prairie.  Salvatore 
Martino,  or  "Tony,"  as  everybody 
called  him,  had  been  Captain 
Baker's  gardener,  and  Baker  "lent" 
him  to  Rice  in  191 5.  Tony  never 


returned  to  the  Baker  garden.  He 
planted  trees,  the  quadrangle 
hedges,  cape  jasmine,  crape  myr- 
tle, and  vegetables  (the  last  for 
the  Commons  table),  and  guarded 
his  flowers  zealously  from  casual 
pluckers.  Flattery  or  cajolery  did 
aspirants  for  the  blooms  no  good, 
and  anyone  whom  Tony  caught 
in  the  act  of  picking  even  a  single 
blossom  was  ostracized.  For  his 
student  and  faculty  favorites, 
however,  he  always  produced  a 
flower,  usually  from  the  cape  jas- 
mine bushes.  Tony  became  one 
of  the  biggest  boosters  of  Rice's 
athletic  teams  and  was  famous 
for  his  bonfire  speeches.  While 
the  content  was  not  always 
expressed  in  standard  English, 
the  intent  was  clear.  Tony  also 
helped  faculty  members  with 
their  own  gardens,  and  some  of 
those  new  to  Texas  learned  that 
the  area  was  fine  for  growing 
"lee-voka"  trees  and  "hoka-da- 
veeya"  vines  (live  oak  trees  and 
bougainvillea  vinesl." 


Administration  and 
Curricukim 

In  those  days  Rice  had  a  mini- 
mum of  what  is  today  called  ad- 
ministration. At  the  top  was  the 
board.  The  trustees  did  not  inter- 
fere with  President  Lovett's  run- 
ning of  the  school,  but  they  cer- 
tainly knew  what  was  going  on. 
They  had  made  Lovett  a  member 
of  the  board  in  19 10  to  fill  the 
place  vacated  by  Frederick  Rice's 
death  in  1901.  Their  primary  job 
was  to  invest  the  endowment  and 
see  that  the  income^was^  spent 
wisely.  For  the  fiscal  year  ending 


April  29,  1916,  the  books  showed 
expenditures  on  the  "educational 
department"  of  almost  Si68,ooo 
and  revenues  in  excess  of  expen- 
ditures of  more  than  $281,000. 
The  board  listed  more  than  Six. 3 
million  in  assets,  most  in  first 
mortgage  notes  and  interest- 
bearing  securities,  bonds,  and  the 
buildings  and  grounds  of  the 
school.'- 

Out  at  the  Institute — the  "gen- 
eral offices  and  financial  depart- 
ment" were  downtown  in  the 
Scanlan  Building — the  admin- 
istration consisted  of  President 
Lovett  and  his  secretary,  John  T. 
McCants.  McCants  was  an  unof- 
ficial second-in-command,  much 
like  an  executive  assistant,  who 
handled  requests  and  complaints 
before  they  got  to  the  president. 
He  made  both  friends  and  en- 
emies in  the  process.  To  many  he 
was  a  likable  man;  to  others,  he 
was  known  as  "Mr.  McCan-not." 
Mrs.  Stratford  seems  to  have  had 
no  voice  in  policy-making,  al- 
though she  had  the  title  "adviser 
to  women."  The  only  real  secre- 
tary handling  correspondence, 
files,  and  office  matters  was 
Anne  Wheeler,  Lovett's  secretary, 
who  came  to  Rice  in  1919. 

For  the  departments  and  fac- 
ulty. President  Lovett  believed  in 
the  German  type  of  organization, 
where  there  was  one  professor 
per  department.  That  professor 
was,  in  effect  if  not  in  title,  the 
chairman  or  head  of  the  depart- 
ment. The  rest  consisted  of  as- 
sistant professors,  instructors, 
and  lecturers,  and  possibly  some 
teaching  fellows.  There  were  no 
associate  professors.  Occasionally 
in  a  large  and  important  depart- 


The  Formative  Years 


6i 


ment  like  mathematics  or  phys- 
ics there  might  be  two  professors, 
but  not  often.  As  a  result  of  this 
arrangement,  promotions  were 
slow  in  coming.  In  later  years  it 
was  not  unusual  for  a  Rice  as- 
sistant professor  to  be  offered  a 
chairmanship  and  a  full  pro- 
fessorship at  another  institution, 
circumventing  the  normal  pro- 
gression of  assistant  professor- 
associate  professor-full  professor. 
There  was  no  tenure  policy  at 
Rice,  but  this  did  not  seem  to 
arouse  the  same  feeling  of  inse- 
curity that  it  does  today.  There 
was  also  no  pension  or  retire- 
ment plan,  and  sabbaticals  were 
rare. 

It  is  difficult  to  determine  ex- 
actly when  the  faculty  organized 
into  a  formal  body.  Professor  Wil- 
son complained  at  least  twice  in 
March  19 13  about  the  lack  of 
a  definite  plan  for  course  work 
and  for  filling  staff  needs.  Lov- 
ett  remarked  in  1950  that  the 
first  committee  on  curriculum 
and  degrees  was  appointed  in 
the  spring  of  191 3  with  Wilson 
as  chairman,  but  no  minutes  or 
reports  of  the  committee  re- 
main. The  committee  consisted 
of  Wilson,  Evans,  Guerard,  Hux- 
ley, and  Axsou;  if  they  did  any- 
thing, it  was  only  to  plan  for  the 
coming  year.  There  is  no  evi- 
dence that  the  faculty  met  in 
an  organized  manner  to  hear 
about  the  appointment  of  the 
committee  or  the  committee's 
recommendations.'' 

The  small  size  of  the  faculty 
leads  one  to  believe  that  there 
was  no  formal  organization  until 
the  spring  of  19 14.  Until  then, 
decisions  had  usually  been  made 


by  one  man  (professor  or  presi- 
dent) or  one  department.  Since 
these  decisions  involved  equip- 
ment or  faculty,  opinions  and 
conclusions  were  easy  to  gather 
without  a  formal  meeting.  By 
March  1914,  however,  more  for- 
mal planning  was  necessary.  The 
sophomores  would  enter  into 
upper-class  specialized  work  in 
the  fall,  and  they  needed  a  co- 
herent course  of  study.  Policy  on 
such  matters  as  admission,  atten- 
dance, probation,  and  promotion 
had  to  be  promulgated  as  well. 
The  earliest  minutes  existing  for 
the  faculty  sitting  as  a  formal 
body  are  dated  March  27,  19 14. 

In  May  19 14  another  commit- 
tee was  appointed  to  draw  up  a 
tentative  plan  of  studies  for  the 
next  and  succeeding  years.  It  con- 
sisted of  the  same  members  as 
the  19 1 3  committee,  and  they 
filed  their  report  in  June.  Their 
recommendations  were  the  basis 
for  programs  leading  to  the  Bach- 
elor of  Arts  degree  and  fifth-year 
engineering  and  architecture  de- 
grees. They  also  reiterated  Lov- 
ett's  goal  that  the  Institute  be  a 
university.  Although  the  program 
was  concentrated  in  the  sciences, 
advanced  courses  would  be  avail- 
able in  the  "so-called  humanities 
...  to  offer  both  the  advantages 
of  a  liberal  general  education  and 
those  of  special  and  professional 
training."  In  addition  to  bach- 
elor's degrees.  Rice  would  offer 
graduate  degrees,  although  the 
committee  had  not  yet  spelled 
out  the  requirements  for  these. 
Furthermore,  the  work  would  be 
at  "a  high  university  standard." 
(The  committee  report  said 
"moderately-high,"  but  in  the 


completed  catalog  the  word 
"moderately"  was  omitted.)'" 

The  plan  divided  the  Bachelor 
of  Arts  curriculum  into  a  general 
course  and  an  honors  course.  The 
general  course  did  not  involve 
highly  detailed,  specialized  study, 
as  did  the  honors  course,  but  ei- 
ther could  be  the  path  to  graduate 
study.  The  first  two  years'  work 
were  the  same  for  both  curricula, 
covering  five  courses  each  year. 
In  the  freshman  year  each  stu- 
dent took  mathematics,  English, 
a  modern  language,  a  science, 
and  an  elective;  in  the  soph- 
omore year,  mathematics  or  a  sci- 
ence, English,  a  language,  and 
two  electives.  At  that  point,  stu- 
dents had  to  decide  whether  to 
take  the  general  or  the  honors 
course;  they  also  had  more  lati- 
tude in  choice  of  subjects  than  in 
the  first  two  years.  For  the  gen- 
eral course,  subjects  were  divided 
into  Group  A  (the  humanities) 
and  Group  B  (the  sciences,  engi- 
neering, and  mathematics).  In  the 
junior  year,  students  took  four 
subjects:  two  that  had  been  taken 
in  the  second  year,  one  that  had 
been  taken  in  both  freshman  and 
sophomore  years,  and  an  elec- 
tive. At  least  one  subject  had  to 
be  from  Group  A  and  one  from 
Group  B.  The  senior  year  pro- 
vided for  four  subjects:  two 
continuing  from  the  third  year, 
one  from  either  the  second  and 
third  years  or  the  first  and  third 
years,  and  an  elective.  Again, 
one  subject  from  each  group  was 
necessary.'' 

Honors  students,  on  the  other 
hand,  were  considered  to  be  en- 
tering rigorous  professional  train- 
ing; they  concentrated  in  one 


62 


The  Formative  Years 


subject  area  with  no  requirement 
to  take  a  course  from  the  other 
group.  Juniors  took  five  subjects, 
seniors  four  (later  five),  all  of 
which  could  be  in  their  chosen 
disciplines  or  closely  related 
ones.  Each  program  was  devised 
by  the  department  concerned, 
but  not  all  departments  offered 
honors  courses.  At  first  these 
were  available  only  in  pure  and 
applied  mathematics,  theoretical 
and  experimental  physics,  mod- 
ern languages  and  literatures,  bi- 
ology, and  chemistry.  Others 
were  slowly  added  to  the  list  over 
the  next  thirty  years. 

The  general  B.A.  student  who 
performed  at  a  very  high  level 
was  honored  by  the  designation 
"with  distinction"  at  commence- 
ment, and  the  successful  honors 
student  graduated  "with  honors 
in"  his  or  her  special  field.  (Only 
with  the  graduating  class  of  1959 
did  the  common  academic  dis- 
tinctions "cum  laude,"  "magna 
cum  laude,"  and  "summa  cum 
laude"  appear  on  Rice  sheepskins.) 

B.A.  students  in  either  cur- 
riculum were  allowed  a  certain 
amount  of  flexibility  in  their 
courses  of  study.  Engineering  stu- 
dents had  none  at  all,  except 
sometimes  to  pick  their  foreign 
languages.  Engineers  took  five 
subjects  each  year  and  in  some 
cases  more  in  their  fourth  and 
fifth  years.  To  meet  the  require- 
ments of  the  engineering  pro- 
fession and  become  a  "well- 
rounded"  graduate,  students  who 
could  "afford  the  time"  were  en- 
couraged to  spend  three  or  four 
years  on  preliminary  work,  take 
the  B.A.  at  the  end  of  four  years, 
and  receive  an  engineering  degree 


at  the  end  of  six  or  seven  years. 
It  appears,  however,  that  few 
followed  the  recommendation. 
Most  elected  to  stay  for  five  years, 
receiving  a  B.S.  after  the  fourth 
year  and  an  engineering  degree 
after  the  fifth.  Degrees  were  of- 
fered in  mechanical,  civil,  electri- 
cal, and  chemical  engineering. 
Architects  were  in  a  similar  cate- 
gory, but  they  were  allowed  more 
electives.  At  the  same  time,  they 
were  obliged  to  study  the  "indis- 
pensable elements  of  a  liberal  ed- 
ucation" as  well  as  the  engineer- 
ing and  technical  subjects  that 
were  becoming  mandatory  for  a 
practicing  architect.'" 

All  courses  offered  at  Rice  ran 
for  a  full  year.  Remedying  a  fail- 
ure in  a  course  meant  taking  it 
over  the  next  year.  Exceptions  to 
this  rule  were  a  few  courses  in 
engineering  and  philosophy  of- 
fered as  term  courses  and  later  as 
semester  courses  when  the  two- 
semester  year  replaced  the  three- 
term  year. 

It  appears  from  the  faculty 
minutes  that  these  curricula 
were  adopted  without  much  con- 
troversy, perhaps  because  the 
courses  of  study  were  similar  to 
other  schools'.  There  had  been 
many  experiments  in  higher  edu- 
cation in  the  first  decade  of  the 
century,  and  Rice  was  able  to 
take  advantage  of  the  experience 
of  others.  The  Institute  was  prob- 
ably more  fortunate  in  its  curric- 
ulum development  than  anyone 
realized  at  the  time.  Rice  was  a 
school  without  tradition  and  had 
a  new  faculty  drawn  from  many 
places.  There  was  no  entrenched 
course  of  study  with  adherents 
unwilling  to  give  up  their  "em- 


pires," no  opposition  on  the  basis 
of  habit,  no  large  constituency  of 
alumni,  no  meddling  trustees  to 
satisfy.  At  the  same  time,  it  could 
tolerate  both  a  course  of  study  for 
the  engineer  and  one  for  the  hu- 
manist, and  strive  to  maintain  in- 
tellectual quality,  discipline,  and 
community  interest  in  each." 

There  were  still  curricular 
matters  to  be  worked  out  and 
some  regulations  to  be  de- 
fined after  the  original  plan  was 
adopted.  In  December  19 14  the 
faculty  regularized  the  grading 
system.  Students  were  to  be  di- 
vided into  five  categories,  but  in- 
stead of  As  and  Bs,  Rice  students 
received  numerical  grades:  I  sig- 
nified very  high  standing,  II  high 
standing.  III  medium  standing, 
IV  low  standing,  and  V  failure. 
There  were  no  percentages  at- 
tached formally  to  these  num- 
bers, such  as  85  equals  a  II.  In 
May  191 5  the  faculty  decided  on 
regulations  for  graduation,  pro- 
motion, probation,  and  with- 
drawal. Students  needed  to  pass 
at  least  half  their  course  work  to 
remain  at  the  Institute.  To  gradu- 
ate, they  needed  passing  grades  in 
eighteen  courses,  of  which  eight 
had  to  be  grades  of  III  or  better.  In 
19 17  the  faculty  spelled  out  ex- 
actly what  kinds  of  courses  those 
eighteen  had  to  be:  five  freshman 
courses  (courses  listed  in  the 
loos  in  the  catalog),  five  at  the 
sophomore  level  (200s),  four  at 
the  junior  level  (300s),  and  four 
senior  courses  (400s).  (Graduate 
courses  were  numbered  500  and 
above.)  The  faculty  was  inter- 
ested in  continuity  of  learning, 
and  they  emphasized  that  each 
year's  learning  was  intended  to 


The  Formative  Years 


63 


build  on  the  previous  one.  In  his 
book,  Memories,  Juhan  Huxley 
recalled  the  difficulty  of  convinc- 
ing students  that  his  two-year  ad- 
vanced course  was  a  unity.  "They 
clung  to  the  idea  that  all  they 
had  to  do  was  to  pass  their  exams 
at  the  end  of  each  semester,  and 
if  I  asked  any  questions  concern- 
ing earlier  work,  would  protest: 
'But,  Prof,  we've  done  all  that.'" 
He  persisted  and  thought  he  had 
some  success  in  establishing  bi- 
ology as  a  unitary  study,  "not  to 
be  chopped  into  unrelated 
chunks  of  knowledge. "^- 

The  first  two  years  passed  with 
few  regulations.  By  191 5,  how- 
ever, enrollment  had  passed  200, 
and  some  rules  became  neces- 
sary. Up  to  that  time  there  had 
been  no  penalty  for  absenteeism 
or  tardiness  beyond  a  caustic  re- 
mark from  the  instructor.  In  Jan- 
uary 191 5,  the  faculty  approved  a 
new  system  of  mandatory  class 
attendance.  The  professors  were 
determined  that  students  should 
attend  classes  "with  absolute  reg- 
ularity." They  also  expressed 
their  displeasure  with  a  system 
that  allowed  a  definite  number  of 
cuts,  for  students  then  always 
took  the  full  number  allowed. 
Therefore,  no  cuts  were  to  be  per- 
mitted, and  any  student  who 
missed  class  had  to  bring  a  writ- 
ten excuse  from  parents,  physi- 
cian, or  adviser  accounting  for 
the  absence — and  in  addition  pay 
twenty-five  cents  for  clerical  ex- 
penses to  process  the  file.  At  the 
same  meeting  the  faculty  voted 
to  require  thirteen  freshmen  and 
one  sophomore  to  leave  school 
because  of  excessive  absences. 
With  a  small  student  body,  the 


faculty  could  and  did  consider 
each  student's  problem  individu- 
ally and  vote  a  solution.  At  the 
same  time,  faculty  members 
were  not  insensitive  to  the  confu- 
sion and  needs  of  the  students. 
An  adviser  system  was  estab- 
lished in  1914  so  that  faculty 
members  could  assist  students 
with  personal  problems  and  coun- 
sel them  in  choosing  courses.*' 

Admission  requirements  also 
worried  the  faculty.  In  the  spring 
of  19 16  they  recorded  several  dis- 
cussions and  reports  on  entrance 
examinations.  Tests  took  seven 
or  eight  days  to  administer,  and 
the  faculty  wanted  to  shorten  the 
exams  without  lowering  stan- 
dards. These  were  Rice-originated 
tests,  not  the  tests  of  the  College 
Entrance  Examination  Board.  It 
was  not  until  1919  that  the  Insti- 
tute accepted  CEEB  scores  for  en- 
trance purposes,  and  even  then 
the  test  was  only  for  students 
who  had  not  attended  accredited 
high  schools. 

In  19 17,  for  the  first  but  by  no 
means  the  last  time,  the  faculty 
discussed  the  problem  of  enroll- 
ing well-prepared  freshmen.  They 
considered  several  alternatives: 
limiting  the  number  of  students, 
raising  the  number  of  units  re- 
quired, prescribing  certain  sub- 
jects as  prerequisites  for  admis- 
sion, and  admitting  from  only  the 
upper  two-thirds  of  a  high  school 
class.  One  possibility  that  they 
raised  was  to  select  only  appli- 
cants with  certified  high  school 
records  and  to  require  examina- 
tions for  all.  None  of  these  proce- 
dures seemed  acceptable  at  the 
time,  especially  since  some  of  the 
requirements  would  exclude  good 


graduates  from  the  state's  very 
small  schools,  which  did  not  of- 
fer the  city  schools'  variety  of 
courses.*' 

Except  for  very  general  state- 
ments permitting  a  master's  de- 
gree (after  one  year's  graduate 
work  and  a  thesis  in  a  principal 
subject)  or  a  doctorate  (after  three 
years'  work,  a  dissertation,  and  a 
public  examination),  the  faculty 
did  not  concern  itself  with  gradu- 
ate requirements  until  October 
1916,  after  Walter  W.  Marshall 
had  obtained  the  first  Master  of 
Arts  degree  at  the  Institute's  first 
commencement  the  previous 
June.  In  November  the  master's 
requirements  were  set.  The  grad- 
uate student  would  have  to  take 
and  pass  four  advanced  courses 
with  high  credit,  at  least  two  of 
which  had  to  be  at  the  400  level 
or  above  and  one  at  the  500  level. 
The  course  work  included  re- 
search in  the  student's  principal 
subject,  and  the  student  had  to 
submit  a  thesis  and  pass  a  public 
oral  examination.  The  Ph.D.  re- 
quirements did  not  state  a  spe- 
cific number  of  courses  but  did 
call  for  a  "distinctly  original  con- 
tribution to  the  subject"  in  the 
thesis  and  for  its  publication  m 
an  accredited  journal  or  series. 
The  last  requirement  had  evi- 
dently been  discussed  since  at 
least  1914,  because  in  that  year 
Professor  Blayney  complained 
about  the  problems  faced  by  can- 
didates for  literary  or  philosophi- 
cal doctorates  in  publishing  their 
long  theses  in  journals.  Blayney 
also  pointed  out  that  if  this  provi- 
sion were  adopted,  the  judges  of 
the  student's  work  would  not  be 
the  specialists  of  the  Institute 


64 


The  Formative  Years 


hut  the  journal  editors,  who  had 
their  own  interests.  He  beheved 
that  the  sugestion  was  unsound 
in  theory  and  would  prove  even 
worse  in  practice.  Nevertheless, 
the  requirement  was  adopted  and 
contmued  until  1950."'  Since  the 
Ph.D.  degrees  earned  at  Rice  un- 
til 1955  were  all  in  mathematics 
and  science  (with  the  lone  excep- 
tion of  a  Ph.D.  in  history  awarded 
to  Albert  Grant  Mallison  in  1933), 
the  publication  requirement  does 
not  appear  to  have  been  a  hard- 
ship for  graduate  students  in  the 
early  years. 

Although  the  president  issued 
a  list  of  dates  for  faculty  meet- 
ings each  year,  it  appears  that 
after  19 16  the  faculty  met  only 
when  a  problem  arose  or  new  reg- 
ulations or  course  requirements 
were  needed.  To  take  care  of  rou- 
tine matters,  Lovett  appointed  a 
small  number  of  committees.  By 
1916  the  committees  and  their 
chairmen  were  Examinations  and 
Standing,  Caldwell;  Course  of 
Study  and  Schedules,  Wilson;  En- 
trance Examinations,  Darnell;  Li- 
brary, Evans;  Outdoor  Sports, 
Watkin;  Non-Athletic  Organiza- 
tions, Axson;  Recommendations, 
Graustein;  and  Student  Advisors, 
Guerard.-^ 

The  committees  brought  their 
reports  to  the  full  faculty  for  dis- 
cussion and  adoption,  but  not 
every  committee  recommenda- 
tion was  accepted.  For  example, 
Wilson's  1914  committee  on  the 
curriculum  had  suggested  that 
the  six-day  school  week  (there 
were  Saturday  morning  classes) 
be  divided  so  that  classes  met 
not  every  other  day  but  on  three 
consecutive  days,  each  day  con- 


sisting of  four  periods  in  the 
morning  beginning  at  8:30,  with 
labs  in  the  afternoon.  This  may 
have  pleased  the  scientists,  but  at 
least  one  humanist  objected.  Ger- 
man professor  Blayney  protested 
against  crowding  work  in  literary 
subjects  into  three  days  followed 
by  four  without  instruction.  Such 
a  schedule  would  also  allow  stu- 
dents "too  much"  leisure  time  at 
the  beginning  or  end  of  the  week, 
if  they  could  arrange  their  sched- 
ules carefully.  The  committee's 
suggestion  was  not  adopted. ^~ 


The  First  Library 

One  of  the  pivotal  components  of 
any  institution  of  higher  learning 
is  its  library.  No  matter  what 
their  disciplines,  scholars  need 
a  collection  of  sources  and  in- 
formation about  their  fields. 
The  charter  of  the  Rice  Institute 
called  specifically  for  a  free  pub- 
lic library  and  readmg  room,  but 
that  was  not  easy  to  establish. 
Lovett  wrote  to  his  friend  T.  |.  I. 
See,  a  noted  astronomer  at  the 
Naval  Observatory,  that  he  was 


56.  Alice  Crowell  Dean  '16.  assistant  libraiian.  and  Sara  Stratford,  adviser  to 
women. 


The  Formative  Years 


65 


working  on  a  plan  whereby  the 
Houston  Public  Library  would 
confine  itself  to  "things  literary 
and  popular"  and  leave  the  Insti- 
tute's library  fund  free  to  pur- 
chase scientific  and  technical 
publications/"  Nothing  appears 
to  have  been  done  to  develop  a 
library  until  the  school  had  been 
in  operation  for  a  while.  In  191 5 
Lovett  appointed  a  faculty  Li- 
brary Committee  with  Griffith 
Evans  as  chairman.  Evans,  how- 
ever, did  not  run  the  library 
alone.  Whenever  the  library  is 
mentioned,  the  first  person  who 
comes  to  mind  is  Alice  Crowell 
Dean. 

Miss  Dean  had  been  superin- 
tendent of  high  schools  in  Vic- 
toria, Texas,  but  she  did  not  have 
a  college  degree;  she  came  to 
Rice  in  191 3  to  finish  her  work. 
She  graduated  in  191 6  with  hon- 
ors in  mathematics  and  remained 
to  work  on  a  master's  degree.  She 
also  stayed  to  help  build  the  li- 
brary. As  an  undergraduate,  she 
wanted  to  contribute  to  her  sup- 
port by  working;  possibly  because 
she  was  a  little  older  than  most 
of  the  undergraduate  and  gradu- 
ate students,  the  school  hired  her 
to  manage  the  library  under  the 
committee's  direction.  She  also 
taught  a  section  of  Math  100  for 
years  and  was  listed  in  the  bud- 
gets as  a  fellow  in  mathematics. 
One  of  her  students  was  Howard 
Hughes,  the  multimillionaire  en- 
trepreneur. When  asked  why  she 
had  given  him  a  failing  grade,  she 
replied,  "He  flunked  himself  by 
frittering  away  his  time."  Miss 
Dean  was  not  one  to  fritter. 

Named  acting  librarian  in 
19 14,  Alice  Dean  never  obtained 


a  library  degree.  Her  training  in 
the  field  consisted  of  one  sum- 
mer at  Columbia  University  and 
one  day  at  Harvard;  nonetheless, 
she  proved  to  be  an  excellent  li- 
brarian. She  and  Evans  used  the 
new  faculty's  specialized  knowl- 
edge to  build  a  working  library 
where  books  were  bought  be- 
cause there  was  a  need  for  them, 
not  just  to  add  to  the  collection. 
High  on  the  list  of  priorities  were 
scientific,  literary,  and  technical 
journals.  The  Institute  purchased 
journals  and  other  publications 
in  series,  including  their  com- 
plete back  files,  on  the  theory 
that  there  was  no  school  or  in- 
stitution in  the  area  with  a  large 
collection  of  back  issues  of  peri- 
odicals. Miss  Dean  also  put  the 
library  on  the  Library  of  Congress 
cataloging  system,  an  action  that 
saved  a  great  deal  of  expense  later 
when  the  Dewey  Decimal  sys- 
tem lost  favor.^^ 

The  size  of  the  library  de- 
pended, of  course,  on  the  bud- 
get. In  1913-14  and  1914-15, 
$10,000  was  allotted  each  year 
for  books.  By  1 9 1 5  - 1 6,  Evans 
and  Miss  Dean  had  established  a 
system  of  units  to  allocate  the 
money  among  the  various  depart- 
ments. The  science,  engineering, 
and  architecture  departments  got 
ten  units  each,  some  of  the  hu- 
manities were  allotted  six,  and 
fine  arts,  Spanish,  education,  and 
Latin  and  Greek  got  four  each, 
with  an  extra  eight  units  left  over 
for  special  purchases.  Any  new 
course  received  an  extra  credit,  as 
did  new  members  of  the  faculty. 
That  year  the  amount  in  the  bud- 
get was  raised  to  $16,000  and  the 
next  to  $18,000.  The  war  years 


brought  substantial  reductions, 
but  by  1920  the  library  allotment 
was  up  to  $1 5,000  again. ^" 

The  physical  size  of  the  library 
determined  its  location.  In  the 
beginning  it  was  housed  on  the 
second  floor  of  the  Administra- 
tion Building,  in  what  is  today 
the  president's  office.  As  the  col- 
lection grew,  it  spread  into  rooms 
on  the  first  floor,  then  took  over 
the  basement,  and  finally  colo- 
nized branches  in  other  buildings 
as  well.  As  might  be  expected, 
problems  arose  from  using  the 
basement  of  the  Administration 
Building.  During  heavy  rains  the 
basement  flooded  so  badly  that 
the  bottom  shelf  was  unusable. 
Librarian  Sarah  Lane  remembered 
going  down  one  day  to  check  on 
the  state  of  the  current  flood  only 
to  find  a  large  snake  swimming 
in  the  waters.  She  left  the  base- 
ment library  to  the  snake  that 
day." 


Public  Lectures 

In  addition  to  class  lectures,  labo- 
ratories, research,  and  committee 
work,  the  faculty  had  another 
task:  lecturing  to  the  public.  In 
an  attempt  to  foster  harmonious 
ties  with  the  city,  Lovett  estab- 
lished in  191 3  what  were  called 
the  University  Extension  Lec- 
tures, realizing  his  inaugural  as- 
piration "to  support  the  intellec- 
tual and  spiritual  welfare  of  the 
community."'""  They  had  a  two- 
fold purpose:  to  expose  the  peo- 
ple of  the  community  (especially 
the  "several  hundred  college  men 
and  women")  to  Rice's  scholars 
and  vice  versa,  and  to  extend  the 


66 


The  Formative  Years 


57.  The  first  library,  in  the  Administrcition  Building. 


influence  of  the  university's  aca- 
demic hfe  beyond  the  Institute's 
walls.  Given  free  of  charge,  the 
lectures  were  delivered  three 
afternoons  a  week  in  series  of 
thirty-six.  They  were  drawn  from 
all  aspects  of  work  at  Rice.  While 
they  were  as  nontechnical  and 
popular  in  treatment  as  their  sub- 
jects permitted,  some  of  the  lec- 
ture series  amounted  to  short 
university  courses.  Stockton  Ax- 
son  gave  the  first  addresses  and 
proved  to  be  one  of  the  most  pop- 
ular speakers.  In  the  first  five 
years,  he  presented  sixty  talks, 
half  again  as  many  as  the  next 
most  prolific  speaker.  Professor 
Guerard.  '  For  some  of  Axson's 
lectures,  and  for  some  of  the  oth- 
ers by  faculty  and  guest  speakers, 
it  was  necessary  to  move  to  the 
City  Auditorium  to  accommo- 
date all  who  wished  to  attend. 
For  the  most  part,  however,  the 


lectures  were  held  in  the  physics 
amphitheater  on  campus.'' 

The  extension  lectures  re- 
ceived wide  publicity,  many 
being  abstracted  in  newspapers 
throughout  the  state.  To  publi- 
cize the  extension  lectures  and 
other  talks  by  faculty  and  visi- 
tors, Lovett  established  the  Rice 
Institute  Pamphlet,  a  quarterly 
serial  (known  as  Rice  University 
Studies  since  i960).  The  Pamph- 
let began  in  191 5  by  publishing 
the  inaugural  lectures  and  soon 
included  extension  lectures, 
commencement  addresses,  and 
scholarly  papers.  ~' 

Early  Achievements  and 
Problems 

Rice  held  its  first  commence- 
ment in  lune  1916.  The  fes- 
tivities lasted  several  days  and 


included  dances,  a  play,  a  tennis 
tournament,  and  a  garden  party 
given  by  the  Lovetts  in  honor  of 
the  graduates.  The  baccalaureate 
and  commencement  ceremonies 
were  held  out  of  doors,  on  the 
west  or  court  side  of  the  Admin- 
istration Building  to  take  advan- 
tage of  the  morning  cool  and  the 
building's  shade.  The  Reverend 
Dr.  Peter  Gray  Sears  of  Christ 
Church  Cathedral,  Houston, 
preached  the  baccalaureate  ser- 
mon, and  Dr.  David  Starr  lordan, 
chancellor  of  Stanford  University, 
addressed  the  commencement 
audience  on  the  subject  "Is  War 
Eternal?"  The  proud  graduates  re- 
ceived diplomas  that  were  unlike 
any  others.  Designed  by  Dr.  Lov- 
ett and  presented  by  him  along 
with  a  firm  handshake,  the  Rice 
diploma  was,  and  is  still,  a  large 
sheepskin  with  the  seal  of  the 
school  at  the  top  and  the  words 
positioned  in  such  a  way  that  the 
margins  form  the  outline  of  a 
Grecian  urn.  Of  the  original  sev- 
enty-seven matriculants,  twenty- 
seven  remained  to  graduate  in 
1 9 16.  The  class  of  191 6  num- 
bered thirty-five — twenty  men 
and  fifteen  women,  including 
eight  students  who  had  entered 
after  1912.  Of  the  thirty-five, 
twenty-seven  received  Bachelor 
of  Arts  degrees  and  eight  Bach- 
elor of  Science  degrees  (signify- 
ing that  they  were  engineers  or 
architects. !~^ 

President  Lovett  was  some- 
what disappointed  that  he  had  no 
real  prizes  for  scholarship  to  give 
at  that  first  commencement,  but 
he  could  be  proud  of  the  Institute 
and  Its  graduates.  In  1915  Rice 
had  qualified  for  admission  to  the 


The  Formative  Years 


67 


58.  The  academic  procession  at  the  first  commencement,  1916. 


Southern  Association  of  Colleges 
and  Secondary  Schools  and  was 
certified  as  a  Class  A  college  by 
the  Texas  Department  of  Educa- 
tion. Lovett  did  have  his  critics, 
who  complained  that  Rice  was 
not  democratic  enough  in  its  fac- 
ulty, that  the  "dominant  part"  of 
the  faculty  was  made  up  of  for- 
eigners, that  Lovett  and  the  trust- 
ees had  wasted  money  on  fancy 
buildings  instead  of  purchasing 
good  equipment,  and  that  the 
president  was  developing  in  the 
students  "a  snobbish  intellectual 
aristocracy/"'  But  there  were  also 


those  like  Albert  Guerard  who 
understood  what  Lovett  was  try- 
ing to  make  of  the  Rice  Institute. 
Guerard  thought  that  Rice  had  a 
"special  mission."  Texas  already 
had  a  large,  many-sided  state  uni- 
versity and  a  number  of  small 
colleges.  In  1918  he  wrote  Lov- 
ett: 

What  Rice,  with  its  splendid 
plant,  and  its  complete  indepen- 
dence should  stand  for,  is  not 
numbers,  nor  is  it  purely  local 
service.  Our  part  should  be  to  es- 
tablish a  standard.  Let  us  have 


few  buildings,  few  departments, 
few  professors,  few  students,  but 
each  the  best  that  can  be  se- 
cured. It  would  be  false  democ- 
racy to  attempt  to  provide  an  all- 
round  course  for  all  comers, 
without  limitations.  We  cannot 
do  that  on  our  present  endow- 
ment without  a  decided  lowering 
of  our  ideals.  If  we  were  alone  in 
the  field,  it  would  be  our  obvious 
duty  to  accept  conditions  as  we 
find  them,  and  work  up  slowly  to 
the  desired  standard.  But  the 
South  can  afford  to  have  one  at 
least  of  its  numerous  institutions 


68 


The  Formative  Years 


59.  The  conferring  of  degrees  at  the  first  commencement. 


of  learning  kept  on  the  highest 
possible  level,  irrespective  of 
numbers  and  cost,  as  an  example 
to  the  rest.  I  would  rather  see 
300  picked  students  at  Rice  than 
a  thousand  indifferent  ones.  If 
the  Trustees  should  boldly  an- 
nounce a  policy  of  strict  limita- 
tion of  numbers,  there  would  be 
an  outcry,  no  doubt,  but  in  a  few 
years,  the  result  would  justify 
the  new  departure  and  your  op- 
ponents themselves  would  be 
proud  of  what  Rice  had  become 


in  the  life  of  the  City  and  the 
state.'" 

Lovctt  could  hardly  have  said  it 
better. 

Criticism  or  praise  aside,  the 
Institute  had  some  problems. 
The  faculty  was  understaffed,  and 
if  the  student  body  kept  growing 
as  it  had  been — the  number  in 
1 9 16  was  about  six  hundred — the 
physical  plant  would  soon  be 
overcrowded  and  need  enlargmg. 
Furthermore,  the  library  was 


woefully  in  need  of  books  and 
other  resources  in  the  humani- 
ties. How  much  money  the  board 
could  mvest  in  these  improve- 
ments and  expansions  was  an  un- 
answerable question  at  that  time. 
There  was  also  no  end  to  little 
vexing  problems.  One  of  the 
most  troublesome  to  President 
Lovett  must  have  been  convinc- 
ing others  of  his  vision  for  the 
Institute:  that  it  be  a  real  univer- 
sity. A  friend  of  Lovett 's,  Hopson 
O.  Murfee,  twitted  the  president 


The  Formative  Years 


in  1909  and  suggested  that  Lovett 
change  the  letterhead,  which 
read  "The  Rice  Institute,"  either 
to  omit  "The"  or  to  insert  "Only" 
after  it.  In  19 16,  physics  professor 
Hughes  wrote  Lovett  that  one  of 
the  new  Rice  graduates,  Norman 
Hurd  Ricker,  was  having  diffi- 
culty being  accepted  by  Prmce- 
ton's  graduate  school.  The  quar- 
rel was  not  with  Ricker,  an  honors 
physics  student,  but  with  the 
Rice  courses.  Dean  David  Magie 
of  Princeton  had  told  Hughes 
that  Princeton  regarded  the  Insti- 
tute as  a  technical  institution 
and  not  of  university  standing. 
Furthermore,  he  said,  its  courses 
were  not  sufficiently  broad  and 
liberal  to  serve  as  a  foundation 
for  graduate  work  there.  Prince- 
ton dean  Andrew  F.  West  had  in- 
formed Hughes  that  he  thought  a 
science  student  at  Rice  concen- 
trated entirely  on  science.  In  re- 
buttal, Hughes  pointed  out  that  a 
B.A.  course  at  Rice  required  two 
years  of  English,  two  years  of  a 
modern  language,  and  other  hu- 
manities courses;  still.  West  was 
not  impressed.  To  him,  English 


and  modern  languages  (even  two 
years  of  each)  did  not  equal  the 
cultural  value  of  Latin  (only  one 
year  of  which  was  required  at 
Princeton),  and  he  was  not  even 
sure  that  they  should  be  consid- 
ered as  part  of  a  university  educa- 
tion. Rice  could  do  nothing  in 
the  face  of  this  sort  of  opposition 
but  wait  until  Princeton,  Yale, 
and  other  institutions  like  them 
should  drop  Latin  from  their 
graduate  entrance  requirements. 
Ricker  stayed  at  the  Institute  for 
both  his  M.A.  and  Ph.D.  degrees 
and  went  on  to  make  a  name  for 
himself  as  a  physicist;  Prince- 
ton's loss  was  Rice's  gain.'' 

The  difficulty  over  what  Rice 
actually  was — institute,  college, 
or  university — lingered,  however. 
The  title  pages  of  the  Pamphlet 
and  the  catalog,  as  well  as  formal 
announcements  of  lectures  and 
other  matter  sent  out  by  the  In- 
stitute, proclaimed  it  to  be  "The 
Rice  Institute,  A  University  of 
Liberal  and  Technical  Learning 
Founded  m  the  City  of  Houston 
Texas  by  William  Marsh  Rice 
and  Dedicated  by  Him  to  the  Ad- 


vancement of  Letters,  Science 
and  Art."  When  asked  in  1926 
why  "The  Rice  Institute"  was  not 
sufficient,  Lovett  replied  that  the 
combination  was  a  compromise. 
"We  might  have  said  once  for  all 
'Rice  University'.  Standing  alone, 
'The  Rice  Institute'  fails,  on  the 
one  hand  of  giving  the  founder 
explicitly  and  fully  such  recogni- 
tion as  apparently  was  desired, 
and,  on  the  other,  to  record  with 
sufficient  completeness  what  his 
trustees  set  out  to  do  in  their 
own  generation."  There  were  still 
connotations  of  an  institute  of 
technology  or  of  an  eleemosynary 
institution,  and  this  particular 
problem  would  not  go  away  until 
the  name  was  changed.'" 

Beside  the  problem  of  the 
Great  War  in  Europe,  however,  all 
smaller  difficulties  paled.  The 
United  States  and  Rice  had  man- 
aged, for  the  most  part,  to  stay 
out  of  the  momentous  events 
taking  place  across  the  Atlantic; 
but  as  the  nation  moved  closer  to 
war,  the  university  did  also.  The 
war  would  bring  difficult  times  to 
the  Rice  Institute. 


CHAPTER      4 


Rice  and  the  Great  War 


when  World  War  I  broke  out  in 
Europe  in  August  19 14,  the  Rice 
Institute  took  httle  notice  of  it. 
Juhan  Huxley  went  back  to  En- 
gland to  join  the  army,  and  A.  L. 
Hughes  reported  the  impossi- 
bility of  getting  vacuum  pumps 
and  induction  coils  from  Ger- 
many. The  college  rhythm,  how- 
ever, was  maintained:  there  were 
still  lectures,  tests,  labs,  sports, 
dances.  When  in  19 16  President 
Wilson  spoke  of  the  need  for 
American  preparedness.  Rice  stu- 
dents formed  a  voluntary  cadet 
corps  eighty  strong,  directed  by 
Herbert  N.  Roe,  an  instructor  of 
physical  education.  Two  com- 
panies organized  and  began  drill- 
ing in  March.  The  corps,  called 
"a  battalion,"  continued  in  the 
fall  of  19 16,  and  by  1917  there 
were  one  hundred  men  enrolled.' 

Declaration  of  war  in  April 
1 91 7  changed  the  situation  con- 
siderably; the  Institute  imme- 
diately faced  decreases  in  student 
and  faculty  numbers  as  men  vol- 
unteered for  the  army.  For  those 


faculty  members  who  enlisted, 
the  board  voted  to  continue  their 
full  salaries  until  they  were  ac- 
cepted by  the  army,  and  then  to 
make  up  any  difference  between 
their  military  pay  and  their  Insti- 
tute salaries  until  the  war  ended. 
In  addition,  they  would  be  rein- 
stated in  their  university  posi- 
tions when  they  were  mustered 
out.' 

Rice  students  were  prime 
candidates  for  officers'  training 
school,  and  before  graduation  in 
June  1917  thirty-five  of  them  had 
been  admitted  to  the  training 
camp  at  Camp  Funston,  Leon 
Springs,  north  of  San  Antonio. 
The  regular  commencement  cere- 
mony was  held  on  campus,  al- 
though it  was  somewhat  sub- 
dued. For  those  graduating  seniors 
who  were  already  at  Leon  Springs, 
President  Lovett  went  to  the 
camp  and  conferred  their  degrees 
in  a  special  ceremony  held  on  the 
drill  field.'  Altogether,  fifty-two 
degrees  were  awarded. 

Twenty-five  members  of  the 


faculty  served  with  the  armed 
forces  in  some  capacity  during 
World  War  I.  Lindsey  Blayney 
professor  of  German,  participated 
in  campaigns  in  France  and  Mac- 
edonia and  received  several  cita- 
tions. Mathematics  professor 
Griffith  Evans  worked  on  high- 
altitude  bombing  in  France,  En- 
gland, and  Italy.  Julian  Huxley 
served  with  military  intelligence 
in  the  British  Army  and  physicist 
Arthur  Hughes  with  the  antisub- 
marine division  of  the  British 
Admiralty.  Harold  A.  Wilson 
served  on  the  National  Research 
Council's  committee  investi- 
gating antisubmarine  devices  and 
worked  both  at  the  Naval  Experi- 
mental Station  in  New  London, 
Connecticut,  and  independently 
at  the  Rice  Institute.  Woodrow 
Wilson  tapped  his  brother-in-law 
Stockton  Axson  to  be  national 
secretary  of  the  American  Red 
Cross;  Axson  served  in  the  United 
States,  France,  and  Italy.  Of  the 
students  who  served,  eight  died 
during  the  war:  Joseph  W.  Ay- 


The  Great  War 


71 


#    4V    ^   ^    ^  *^ 


55.VW  R-iTT-.^ 


^f^ 


-^i^ 


60-61.  The  cadet  corps  of  the  Rice  Institute.  1916-ij.  60.  Company  A.  61.  Company  B. 


cock,  Otta  L.  Cain,  Thomas  L. 
Coates,  Lee  Hahom,  Roy  E.  Lil- 
lard,  Fred  P.  Manaker,  Charles  H. 
Patterson,  and  Ira  South." 


Military  Life  on  Campus 

The  students  who  remained  at 
Rice  found  a  different  Institute 
when  they  returned  in  the  fall  of 


1917.  Pressed  by  both  students 
and  staff,  the  administration  had 
applied  for  and  been  granted 
a  unit  of  the  Reserve  Officers' 
Training  Corps  under  terms  of 
the  National  Defense  Act  of  June 
3,  19 16.  The  War  Department  as- 
signed Philippine-campaign  vet- 
eran Major  Joseph  Frazier,  United 
States  Army,  Retired,  as  professor 
of  military  science  and  tactics. 


He  and  the  university  administra- 
tion "effected  a  military  organiza- 
tion of  the  students,"  as  the  cata- 
log put  it.  The  object  seems  to 
have  been  to  train  the  students  as 
though  they  were  at  a  camp  such 
as  Leon  Springs,  so  that  upon 
completion  of  the  course  they 
would  be  eligible  to  take  exam- 
inations to  become  commis- 
sioned officers.  All  students. 


The  Great  War 


hi.  Snapshots  from  infantry  life  at  the  Institute.  igiJ- 


women  ineluded,  were  required 
to  belong  to  the  corps.  All  men 
were  required  to  take  courses  in 
the  theory  and  practice  of  mili- 
tary science  and  tactics;  women 
were  to  have  modified  courses 
including  physical  training,  hy- 
giene, and  first  aid.  All  had  to 
wear  uniforms.  "It  thus  appears," 
the  19 17  catalog  stated,  "that  as 
far  as  may  be  consistent  with  the 
university  programme  of  the  Rice 
Institute,  the  conduct  of  the  life 
of  the  place,  including  that  of  the 
campus  and  the  residential  halls, 
will  be  under  military  regula- 
tions, certainly  as  long  as  the  war 
continues."' 

What  this  meant  was  almost  a 
complete  reversal  of  life  at  Rice 
for  men  in  the  residential  halls. 
Gone  were  the  "gentlemen's 
club"  rules,  the  freedom  to  go 
and  come  at  will,  the  option  of 
living  in  a  perpetually  chaotic 
dormitory  room,  and  the  liberty 
of  keeping  whatever  hours  they 
pleased.  Instead,  the  new  regi- 
men began  with  reveille  at  s:45 
A.M.  Cadets  were  to  dress  and 
come  to  assembly.  Roll  was  usu- 
ally called  at  assembly  before 
each  meal.  At  6: is  rooms  were 
inspected,  and  at  6:30  breakfast 
was  served.  Drill  started  at  7:30 
and  lasted  for  an  hour,  after 
which  classes  ran  from  8:30  to 
12:30.  Lunch  came  at  12:4s,  and 
labs  filled  the  afternoon  until 
4:30.  On  days  without  morning 
drill,  there  was  an  afternoon  drill 
from  4:40  to  s:40.  After  dinner  at 
6:00  the  cadet  was  allowed  a  brief 
time  for  relaxation,  but  he  had  to 
be  in  his  room  twenty  minutes 
after  the  meal  was  over.  He  was 
then  required  to  stay  in  his  room 


The  Great  War 


73 


until  release  from  quarters  at 
9:30,  and  a  guard  was  mounted  to 
enforce  the  regulations.  Any 
movement  outside  the  rooms  be- 
fore release  from  quarters  re- 
quired a  permit.  Taps  sounded  at 
11:00,  signaling  lights  out.  The 
only  really  free  time  was  Satur- 
day night,  when  the  cadets  could 
go  wherever  they  pleased;  but 
they  still  had  to  wear  uniforms 
and  be  back  at  the  dorms  for  taps. 
Students  who  lived  off  campus 
had  considerably  more  freedom, 
although  they  followed  the  sched- 
ule when  they  were  on  campus 
and  drilled  with  the  rest,  both 
morning  and  afternoon." 

Four  companies,  one  for  each 
residential  hall  and  one  for  the 
town  students,  made  up  the  corps. 
The  women  had  their  own  four 
companies.  Officers  from  major 
down  to  sergeant  were  appointed, 
and  the  students  went  about  try- 
ing to  pass  as  soldiers.  This  was 
not  always  easy,  especially  at 
first,  because  some  had  difficulty 
procuring  uniforms  (they  pur- 
chased their  own).  Soldierly  life 
was  not  without  humor,  either. 
A  maverick  company  called 
Company  BVD  or  Company  B;D 
"formed"  for  "drill"  and  even  had 
the  effrontery  to  perform  at  a 
football  game  using  brooms  and 
other  assorted  oddities  for  weap- 
ons. The  male  cadets  also  thought 
it  great  fun  to  watch  the  women 
drilling.' 

The  women's  corps  was  a  spe- 
cial case.  The  hybrid  uniform  in- 
cluded a  man's  hat  and  an  army 
nurse's  shoes.  There  were  some 
women  like  Sarah  Lane  who  had 
to  have  their  uniforms  individu- 
ally tailored,  because  they  were 


"HflNO  SmUTF! 

63.  Snapshots  of  the    BV.D.  Co.."  191 


74 


The  Great  War 


.i 


»l> 


s%!t^B..%^ 


64.  The  women's  cadet  corps.  191-'.  iPanoiamic  photograph  by  F.  j.  Schhieter  of  Houston. I 


too  tall  for  the  ready-made  ver- 
sions. Women  officers  wore  the 
same  braid  on  their  hats  as  did 
regular  officers,  causing  confu- 
sion and  consternation  among 
the  soldiers  from  Ellington  Field 
and  Camp  Logan,  who  felt  that 
they  had  to  salute  when  they  met 
the  student  officers  on  the  streets 
in  downtown  Houston.  Even- 
tually women  were  allowed  to 
wear  civilian  clothing  when  not 
on  campus  for  drills.  Training  for 
the  women  was  not  as  rigorous  as 
the  men's:  they  drilled  only  three 
times  a  week  instead  of  five.' 
At  the  start  of  the  program, 
students  were  enthusiastic  de- 
spite the  disruption  of  their  nor- 
mal schedules.  The  Thresher 
came  out  foursquare  behind  the 
military  regime  and  spoke  of  "the 
glory  to  the  annals  of  Rice  tradi- 
tions" that  would  follow  the 
war.  The  editors  also  hoped  that 
the  good  features  of  the  old  Rice 
life  would  be  retained.  Thev 


wanted  to  see  literary  societies 
and  other  organizations  flourish 
and  pledged  that  columns  of  the 
Thresher  would  be  open  to  any- 
one wanting  to  voice  an  opinion 
on  any  subject." 

Handled  differently,  the  mili- 
tary system  might  have  been  a 
success.  As  it  was,  several  cir- 
cumstances combined  to  bring 
the  students  to  vigorous  protest. 
Major  Frazier  was  transferred  al- 
most as  soon  as  the  new  school 
year  started,  leaving  behind  a  set 
of  strict  military  regulations  to 
be  put  into  effect.  In  his  place, 
the  War  Department  sent  Captain 
Taylor  M.  Reagan,  United  States 
Army,  Retired.  Reagan  proved  to 
be  an  unfortunate  commandant. 
At  his  first  drill,  he  marched  his 
men  through  a  hedge,  causing 
some  of  the  cadets  to  wonder 
about  his  capability.  To  help  the 
captain  administer  the  rules, 
Lovett  appointed  a  Military  Com- 
mittee under  chairman  William 


Caspar  Graustein,  assistant 
professor  of  mathematics.  J.  T 
McCants  also  helped  enforce  reg- 
ulations in  his  capacity  as  book- 
keeper and  executive  assistant. 

Tape  and  the  Student 
Rebellion 

Dissatisfaction  with  the  system 
was  evident  by  December.  Men 
in  the  dormitories  did  not  appre- 
ciate having  every  minute  of 
their  days  planned  by  someone 
else.  A  book  of  220  regulations 
set  forth  actions  for  every  con- 
tingency, and  the  cadets  soon 
learned  that  every  action  had  to 
have  a  corresponding  permit — or 
so  It  seemed.  Especially  irksome 
was  incarceration  every  night 
from  around  seven  to  half-past 
nine  with  no  chance  to  consult 
with  classmates  about  homework 
or  leave  campus  without  a  per- 
mit. The  poor  quality  of  food 
in  the  mess  hall  added  to  their 


The  Great  War 


75 


discontent." '  (The  Commons 
became  "the  mess  hall"  as  the 
campus  adopted  military  nomen- 
clature for  the  duration  of  the 
war.) 

More  serious  than  those  cur- 
tailments to  freedom  was  the  stu- 
dents' dissatisfaction  with  the 
ROTC  program  itself.  Army  Gen- 
eral Order  No.  49,  dated  Sep- 
tember 20,  19 16,  described  the 
phases  of  the  program;  nowhere 
did  it  call  for  the  radical  transfor- 
mation of  the  campus  that  had 
occurred.  The  order  specified 
military  subjects  as  part  of  nor- 
mal school  work  and  only  three 
hours  of  drill  a  week  instead  of 
the  five  required  by  the  Institute. 
The  cadets  claimed  to  be  eager 
for  real  military  training  in  his- 
tory, tactics,  ordnance,  signaling, 
entrenchments,  and  other  sub- 
jects an  officer  needed  to  know; 
but  they  were  not  receiving  it. 
Nor  did  female  cadets  believe 
that  they  were  receiving  correct 


training,  certainly  not  in  first 
aid  or  Red  Cross  work  or  in  drill. 
Like  the  men,  they  chafed  at 
the  regulations  and  the  verita- 
ble sea  of  permits  required  for  the 
slightest  move.  Furthermore,  ap- 
peals to  the  Military  Committee 
brought  no  relief." 

In  November  the  Thresher  be- 
gan to  print  students'  statements 
of  protest.  That  brought  the  edi- 
tor into  conflict  with  the  au- 
thorities, who,  the  editor  claimed, 
accused  the  paper  of  "directing 
these  articles  against  the  good  of 
the  Institution,  of  'agging  on'  the 
dissatisfaction  .  .  .  and  even  of 
proceeding  in  an  unpatriotic 
manner."  According  to  the  editor, 
the  real  dissatisfaction  lay  in  the 
fact  that  students  could  not  see 
why  they  should  be  deprived  of 
their  freedom,  due  them  by  right 
of  American  birth  and  by  prece- 
dents in  college  life.  Drill  was  a 
duty,  but  the  other  petty  restric- 
tions were  not." 


When  the  Christmas  break  was 
over,  students  found  that  some 
changes  had  been  made  in  the 
system.  Drill  would  take  place 
only  in  the  mornings,  three  days 
a  week.  The  other  three  drill 
times  would  be  given  over  to 
physical  training,  theory  as  well 
as  practice.  Little  objection  to 
this  substitution  surfaced,  but 
Commandant  Reagan  also  an- 
nounced that  instruction  in  drill 
would  have  to  start  at  the  very 
beginning  because  the  students 
had  not  received  proper  training. 
The  students  blamed  Reagan's 
teaching.  Roll  would  be  called 
only  at  reveille,  and  students 
could  miss  the  other  two  meals 
on  campus  if  they  wished.  But 
taps  was  moved  up  to  10:30  and 
release  from  quarters  pushed 
back  to  10:15,  leaving  only  fif- 
teen minutes  free  instead  of  the 
hour  and  a  half  the  cadets  had  en- 
joyed before.  Guard  duty  routine 
was  also  changed  slightly.  On  the 


76 


The  Great  War 


DKDHATEl)  To  ■HIS  IK  iXoK" 

Ritlc  a  ctick-hurse  to  Banbury  Cross 
To  SCO  Bradlt-y  manage  a  cava!r\-  horse. 
With  K'ne  on  his  fingers  and  nitrated  nose. 
He'll   1-e  a  Kader  wherever  he  goes. 


65.  Cartoon  and  poem  of  cavalry  life.  1917. 


academic  side,  two  new  "war 
courses"  were  offered:  "wireless 
telegraphy,"  to  be  taught  by  engi- 
neer Nicholas  Diamant,  and  "gas 
engines"  by  A.  H.  Aagaard." 

Unfortunately,  disgruntlement 
had  already  emerged,  more  than 
such  cosmetic  changes  could 
mollify.  The  same  day  that  the 
modifications  were  published  in 
the  Thresher,  students  found  at 
their  hall  doors  and  at  other  points 
on  campus  a  publication  entitled 
Tape  in  large  red  letters.  An  anon- 
ymous author  set  forth  in  vitri- 
olic style  the  conditions  as  seen 
by  students  and  a  lampoon  of  the 
authorities  in  charge.  The  situa- 
tion had  worsened  over  the  holi- 
days, as  a  number  of  students  had 
either  flunked  out  or  gone  on 
probation  on  the  basis  of  Christ- 
mas grades,  and  a  number  had 
left  to  join  the  army.  The  paper 
repeated  all  the  causes  of  discon- 
tent, dwelling  especially  on  the 
punishments  meted  out  for  vio- 
lating regulations.  "Edgar  Ideal," 
"lohnny  T  McCan-not,"  and 
"Zeus  Graustein"  came  in  for 
particular  abuse.  The  author 
called  on  students  to  unite  and  to 
decline  to  answer  any  questions 
about  the  source  of  the  paper.  He 
also  asked  them  to  send  the  pa- 
per home  to  acquaint  their  par- 
ents with  the  situation. - 

The  authorities  reacted  quickly. 
A  letter  went  out  from  the  board 
to  parents  over  J.  T  McCants's 
signature,  claiming  that  the  stu- 
dents had  made  no  formal  com- 
plaint of  their  troubles  before 
publishing  Tape,  and  that  the 
board  had  been  called  in  because 
of  the  students'  "rebellious  atti- 
tude" and  "their  apparent  deter- 


The  Great  War 


77 


mination  to  enforce  their  own 
demands  without  consultation 
with  anyone  and  irrespective  of 
the  opinions  of  the  facuky  and 
trustees."  It  said  that  miUtary 
regulations  were  in  the  students' 
interest  and  had  been  adopted 
after  careful  consideration.  The 
students'  primary  complaint,  ac- 
cording to  the  letter,  was  confine- 
ment to  rooms  on  weeknights. 
The  board  was  not,  however, 
going  to  take  summary  action  in 
the  face  of  troubles  but  would 
meet  with  the  students  and  en- 
deavor to  show  them  the  error  of 
their  ways.  Those  refusing  to 
obey  the  rules  and  regulations 
would  be  expelled.  The  letter 
said  that  the  faculty  and  trustees 
believed  that  parents  would  en- 
dorse this  action,  and  it  asked 
parents  to  wire  their  children  to 
urge  cheerful  submission  and 
obedience  to  the  rules." 

Tape  came  out  on  Saturday, 
January  19.  McCants's  letter 
went  out  a  few  days  later.  After 
some  disturbances  in  the  dor- 
mitories (mostly  pranks  such  as 
turning  lights  off  suddenly  in  the 
wings,  although  a  few  sports 
poked  a  firehose  down  the  chim- 
ney and  flooded  Captain  Reagan's 
quarters  in  South  Hall),  the  trust- 
ees intervened  in  person.  On  Sat- 
urday, January  26,  they  met  with 
cadet  officers  and  called  a  student 
meeting  for  Monday,  the  twenty- 
eighth.  At  10:30  in  the  morning 
of  the  twenty-eighth  a  committee 
from  the  trustees  met  with  all 
the  students  in  the  physics  am- 
phitheater. The  cadets  presenting 
grievances  were  Cadet  Major  Al- 
ston Duggan  '18,  Jay  Alexander 
'20,  James  Markham  '18,  Pickens 


Coleman  '18,  and  Emmet  Niland 
'17.  Camille  Waggaman  '18  and 
Elsbeth  Rowe  '18  represented  the 
women. 

As  the  students  saw  the  situa- 
tion, confinement  to  rooms  was 
not  their  primary  grievance,  as 
McCants's  letter  had  alleged. 
They  believed  that  there  had 
been  a  basic  impairment  of  their 
rights  that  was  almost  impossible 
to  correct  because  of  the  au- 
thorities' attitude.  Application  to 
the  administration  (Lovett,  Mc- 
Cants,  and  the  Military  Commit- 
tee) had  produced  no  results;  the 
students  met  only  delay,  equiv- 
ocation, or  outright  rejection, 
often  without  explanation.  Since 
attempts  by  the  Thresher  to  voice 
dissatisfaction  resulted  in  threats 
of  censorship  or  suspension  and 
formal  complaints  were  ignored. 
Tape  seemed  to  some  the  only 
way  to  be  heard.  The  students 
felt  that  the  charges  in  McCants's 
letter  were  misleading  or  absurd. 
They  did  not  see  themselves  as 
insurrectionists  but  as  advocates 
for  the  bettering  of  the  Institute, 
and  they  asked  the  trustees  for 
just  and  wise  consideration  of 
their  case. 

After  all  the  student  speakers 
had  expressed  their  opinions, 
Captain  Baker  said  that  the  board 
would  remedy  conditions  as  soon 
as  possible  if  they  were  presented 
with  a  formal  petition  and  if  the 
cadets  would  pledge  to  abide  by 
the  old  rules  until  then.  In  re- 
sponse, the  students  adopted  res- 
olutions agreeing  to  stand  by  the 
rules  and  disassociating  them- 
selves from  the  authors  of  Tape 
(but  not  its  charges).  They  also 
established  a  committee  to  draw 


up  a  formal  petition  of  com- 
plaints for  the  board."" 

A  formal  petition  addressed  to 
the  Military  Committee  was 
ready  two  days  after  the  meeting. 
The  male  students  asked  for  abo- 
lition of  the  requirements  they 
disliked  the  most:  call  to  quar- 
ters, guard  duty,  taps,  roll  call  at 
every  meal,  punishment  tours 
and  confinements,  and  all  rules 
and  regulations  that  would  not 
exist  at  a  university  maintaining 
only  a  unit  of  the  ROTC.  They 
also  wanted  the  power  to  start 
a  students'  organization.  The 
women  requested  consultation 
concerning  their  uniforms,  aboli- 
tion of  military  drill  (with  the 
substitution  of  competent  in- 
struction in  physical  training  and 
Red  Cross  work),  availability  of 
tennis  courts  in  the  cooler  hours 
of  the  day,  and  reintroduction  of 
or  support  for  those  social  activi- 
ties that  had  been  "hampered  or 
repressed.'"" 

On  February  9  the  trustees 
came  to  campus  again  to  meet 
with  the  students.  They  brought 
with  them  new  regulations  ac- 
ceding to  many  of  the  students' 
requests.  Abolished  were  the  call 
to  quarters,  guard  duty,  taps,  roll 
call  at  meals,  and  women's  drill. 
Women  would  receive  Red  Cross 
training  and  physical  instruction 
and  would  have  to  wear  their 
uniforms  only  on  the  days  on 
which  physical  exercises  were 
scheduled.  The  trustees  approved 
formation  of  a  student  associa- 
tion and  announced  a  new  set  of 
regulations.  The  students  did  not 
get  everything  they  wanted;  they 
still  had  to  walk  tours  and  suffer 
confinement  to  their  rooms  for 


78 


The  Great  War 


infractions  of  the  rej^uhitions. 

Baker  proclaimed  the  changes 
and  new  regulations  and  then 
spoke  to  the  assembled  students. 
He  agreed  with  them  that  "Rice 
is  not  a  military  school,"  and  that 
it  was  hard  to  convert  an  aca- 
demic institution  into  a  military 
academy  in  a  few  months.  But, 
he  said,  "Rules  not  properly  en- 
forced cause  disrespect  for  mili- 
tary rule."  The  board  would  not 
have  granted  the  changes  if  the 
students'  requests  had  not  been 
reasonable  or  if  calm  on  campus 
had  not  been  restored.  The  chair- 
man told  the  students  that  the 
new  rules  had  to  be  enforced  or 
"things  will  go  back  to  the  old 
conditions."  President  Lovett  also 
responded  and  closed  by  extend- 
ing his  hand  to  the  students  as  he 
did  at  the  end  of  each  matricula- 
tion address,  saying,  "May  I  not 
ask  you  to  take  the  hand  I  extend 
and  ask  you  to  help  me  bridge 
the  gulf?"  The  students  thanked 
the  board  for  the  changes  and 
closed  the  meeting  with  a  stand- 
ing ovation  and  the  college  yell, 
"Yea,  Rice!"  Then  they  filed  out, 
shaking  the  president's  hand  as 
they  went." 

In  some  ways  the  "rebellion" 
and  its  causes  and  results  were 
peculiar.  From  the  existing  rec- 
ords it  is  impossible  to  discover 
exactly  who  ordered  the  first  set 
of  regulations  to  which  the  stu- 
dents objected  so  strongly.  Why 
it  was  thought  necessary  to 
transform  the  Institute  in  such  a 
manner  is  also  unknown.  Other 
schools  established  ROTC  units 
without  such  radical  changes, 
and  General  Order  No.  49  did  not 
call  for  them.  Since  the  object 


TAPE 


Published  in  Ihr  hope  uf  cullini;  inleresleJ  allenlion  to  evil  eunjitium.  exislinK  at 
Hue.  in  order  that  U'isf  lud^menl  and  devoted  energy  may  be  muted  to  bring  about 
improvements  that  are  promotive  of  the  welfare  of  an  institution  that  i.s  eapable  of 
noble  tvork  in  "the  advancement  of  Letters,  Science  and  Art." 

J  A   N   U   .Ji   R  Y,    I  9  1  S 


"MILITARY  SYSTEM 

A  RANK  FAILURE" 


(  INSTITUTION 


UN ITKD  WE  .STAND! 


;  undoubted  Injui 


:    ':.'„,'"r,'i1 

,,l. 

of    Kaiiiiii);    a 

auJi.n.o    w,.h 

.lun.or..    7    Senior-    a„,|    1    ,,.r*,„1    ,t«. 

rS^I 

/'km   to'Mp 

ly 

'.p.' 

omplMc  cxi-O 

n.(..l^  B  -liKht- 

to(u1  from  the  nuiveraity  offico  don  doI 
vbi-cK  wiih  llic  tout  from  tbe  oTiee  ot 

Tcn.k'r,  for  th<w  t«ro  inriitnUoBi  m1- 
-i«m  clirck  M  clMoly  u  thl»- 

Wc  koow  that  the  whole  school  U  bo- 

",,;';;,','", /';,;„ 

in    Mplainlng 
as  thoroughly 

z 

f 

.lffllm-!l  from" 
ti.rt>  of  tho  C 

n  rvjHirt  bonring 
"Bh    tJM   thero 

BtructoF!..  after  firnt  InokioK  north,  M»l, 

dig^uat  to  u<  in  IftDguaco  anythloc  but 
parlinoipularv. 

The  l'r«i.icnt  uid  Commudsnt  bsvo 
now  «om<>  in,  picnd  guilty  to  th^ir  fall- 

66.  Tbe  first  issue  of  Tape,  in  which  students  complained  about  military  life 
on  campus. 


The  Great  War 


79 


A  TRAGICAL  JOKE— 

DRIU  FOR  GIRLS 


:.  BEOULATIOKS 


Whkt  i: 

it:     A  ft 


M,  th.  good   wife 

»  •Wout   enu«llr   a 

good   in   dewgning 

band  19  m  plBonini 

an  intelligent  mi 

to   wear    these    un« 

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'^iCw'we  have  i 


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Voiir  pareiilH  hIiuiiIiI  be  niHil«>  ucqmiiittecl  with 
caiid[ll<iii!i  lit  thlx  pliicr  ol  Libt'ral  niiil  Trch- 
iiiral  LpariiinK.  to  nhicli  they  sent  yoii. 

students'  puanis  are  enUUed  to  &  complete  knowledge  of  the  condl 
UOQS  sniroaiidljig  tbelr  miu  tad  dAUKbten.  the  unlverdty  office  con 
slstoQtly  deprives  them  of  any  oppoitmUt;  of  getting  that  knowledge 
thU  year,  this  paper  presenta  the  roal  facta,  deplorable  though  they  are — 
mall  It  to  your  pareota,  let  them  hrlng  pressare  to  bear. 


iDded  i 


of  Hot 


be  icaloualy   (though  ever  broadly  and   rationally   and  fairly!   comba 
inspired  ideal  of  a  broad,  worthy  man.  who  was  a  noble,  and  a  cons 


"THE   EDOCATOa." 


t  "Serg,"   (with  Apol 

L  crasoe  Oo  with  Friday  on 
Saturday  Night?") 


was  to  graduate  men  who  were 
trained  in  both  mihtary  and  aca- 
demic subjects  and  ready  to  be- 
come officers,  perhaps  someone 
thought  that  the  mihtary  organi- 
zation would  prepare  young  men 
more  thoroughly  for  the  army 
than  would  a  civilian  structure. 

There  is  some  evidence  that 
Major  Frazier  was  the  guiding 
force  in  the  plan;  had  he  stayed, 
he  might  have  been  able  to  carry 
out  the  program  successfully.  For 
overseeing  the  metamorphosis  of 
civilian  students  into  cadets, 
however,  Captam  Reagan  was  an 
inappropriate  choice.  Lovett 
wrote  later  that  Reagan  was  not 
only  inadequately  prepared  for  in- 
struction and  the  mamtenance  of 
discipline  as  commandant,  but 
he  also  failed  to  develop  the  nec- 
essary skills  while  he  held  the 
position.'"  In  December  1917 
Lovett  had  tried  to  have  Reagan 
replaced,  but  the  army  needed  all 
its  other  officers  elsewhere.  His 
appeal  was  in  vain.  In  December 
or  early  lanuary  Lovett  admitted 
to  the  student  officers  that  he  re- 
garded Captain  Reagan  as  un- 
suitable, and  they  discussed  the 
difficulty  of  trying  to  turn  Rice 
into  a  military  institution.  He 
asked  the  young  men  to  carry  on 
patiently,  but  their  discontent 
was  too  deep.  Whoever  published 
Tape  took  matters  out  of  the 
hands  of  either  the  president  or 
the  student  officers.  Tape  charged 
that  the  president's  request  called 
on  students  "to  help  him  con- 
tinue a  system  that  is  killing 
Rice  Institute.'" 

Professor  Graustein,  who  re- 
ceived much  criticism  as  head  of 
the  Military  Committee,  said 


8o 


The  Great  War 


SoliBiln 


67.  The  Students'  Army  Training  Corps.  1918. 


later  that  he  thought  the  students 
had  protested  because  they  had 
"no  conception  of  the  necessity 
of  individual  discipUne  as  part  of 
preparation  for  war  service."  The 
situation  could  also  have  arisen 
from  the  difference  between  play- 
ing soldier,  as  the  students  had 
done  the  previous  year,  and  actu- 
ally becoming  one." 

But  there  also  seems  to  have 
been  faulty  communication  be- 
tween the  administration  and  the 
student  body.  Student  commit- 
tees attempting  to  lodge  formal 
protests  claimed  that  they  re- 
ceived no  satisfaction,  not  even  a 
decent  hearing;  it  appears  that 
Lovett,  Graustein,  and  McCants 
made  no  attempt  to  talk  with 
student  leaders  before  sending 
the  defensive  letter  to  parents. 
Yet  it  is  curious  that  the  requests 
the  students  made  of  the  board 
were,  with  one  exception,  not 
concerned  with  the  arbitrariness 


of  the  Military  Committee  or  the 
poor  food,  as  emphasized  in  the 
campus  meetings  and  in  Tape.  In- 
stead, they  concerned  more  im- 
mediate matters;  they  impress 
today's  reader  as  being  rather 
minor  grievances.  The  trustees' 
answers  and  new  regulations  cer- 
tainly took  no  power  from  the 
Military  Committee." 

The  one  exception  and  the  re- 
quest with  the  most  enduring 
consequences  was  the  desire  for  a 
students'  association.  This  idea 
had  surfaced  the  preceding  spring 
and  had  provoked  considerable 
discussion  among  the  students. 
The  first  letter  to  the  Thresher 
that  had  proposed  such  an  organi- 
zation introduced  a  notion  of  stu- 
dents' having  a  voice  in  athletic 
affairs,  but  that  idea  was  quickly 
vetoed  by  the  students  them- 
selves. Student  opinion  was  di- 
vided on  the  real  need  for  an 
association.  Some  saw  no  reason 


to  elect  the  managers  of  various 
student  activities;  others  advo- 
cated a  formal  organization  to  en- 
courage a  spirit  of  unity  and 
intelligent  interest  in  the  affairs 
of  the  student  body.  Why  Presi- 
dent Lovett  should  have  opposed 
the  idea  of  an  organization,  as 
spokesman  lay  Alexander  told 
the  meeting,  is  something  of  a 
mystery.  It  is  possible  that  he 
thought  it  unnecessary,  since  the 
classes  and  the  Honor  Council 
were  already  established  and 
there  was  no  overwhelming  stu- 
dent interest.  In  any  event,  the 
students  were  granted  their  asso- 
ciation; they  soon  devised  a  con- 
stitution and  elected  officers." 

The  impression  left  by  the 
Thresher  accounts  of  this  con- 
frontation is  that  the  board  recog- 
nized the  truth  of  the  students' 
assertions  and  changed  the  reg- 
ulations. However,  no  formal 
vote  was  taken  at  the  board  meet- 


The  Great  War 


8i 


ing  on  February  6,  the  only  one 
on  record  between  the  two  ses- 
sions with  the  students.  It  is 
more  hkely  that  the  trustees  al- 
lowed Lovett,  McCants,  and  the 
Military  Committee  to  change 
the  regulations  themselves,  in 
the  same  way  that  McCants'  let- 
ter to  parents  had  been  sent  "by 
order  of  the  board  of  trustees." 
The  administration  knew  much 
better  than  the  trustees  which 
regulations  were  important;  but 
considering  the  temper  of  the 
students,  it  was  more  discreet  to 
announce  the  new  rules  as  issu- 
ing from  the  board.  It  appears 
that  the  trustees  were  polled  at 
least  informally  for  their  opin- 
ions of  the  regulations;  chairman 
Baker  stated  that  the  board  unan- 
imously opposed  women's  drill. 
School  authorities  also  kept  con- 
trol over  the  new  Student  Associ- 
ation. The  faculty  approved  the 
association's  constitution  with 
the  distinct  understanding  that 
measures  passed  by  the  associa- 
tion concerning  the  academic  or 
general  policies  of  the  school 
would  be  regarded  merely  as  peti- 
tions and  recommendations  to 
the  proper  authorities.'" 

By  the  time  school  ended  in 
the  spring  of  19 18,  a  student 
committee  chaired  by  ].  P.  Cole- 
man had  written  the  first  Student 
Association  constitution,  and 
students  had  elected  officers  for 
the  Student  Council,  the  govern- 
ing body  of  the  association.  Of- 
ficers elected  in  May  were  H.  T. 
Dodge,  president.  Marguerite 
John,  vice-president,  H.  Le  Roy 
Bell,  treasurer,  and  Jay  Alexander, 
councilman-at-large.  There  was 
no  secretary  under  the  first  con- 


stitution. Officers  for  1918-19 
were  H.  L.  Bell,  president.  Mar- 
guerite John,  vice-president,  J. 
Frank  Jungman,  treasurer,  and 
Maurine  Mills,  secretary.  The 
association  was  to  organize  and 
oversee  interclass  and  intercolle- 
giate relations,  class  customs  and 
privileges,  and  matters  that  came 
within  the  province  of  the  stu- 
dent body.  Membership  was  open 
to  all  students  of  the  Institute 
through  payment  of  a  blanket 
tax,  which  also  covered  subscrip- 
tions to  the  Thresher  and  the 
Campanile  and  admission  to  all 
Rice  athletic  contests.  Editors-in- 
chief,  assistant  editors,  and  busi- 
ness managers  for  both  campus 
student  publications  were  also 
elected  under  this  constitution. 
Women  wrote  into  the  constitu- 
tion an  organization  of  their  own 
to  deal  with  matters  pertaining  to 
their  interests  on  campus:  the 
Women's  Council  supervised  the 
women's  clubs  and  any  other 
campus-wide  activity  directed  by 
the  women  students.  The  consti- 
tution of  the  Women's  Council 
excluded  only  that  which  fell  un- 
der Fionor  Council  jurisdiction.'' 

For  commencement  in  19 18 
Dr.  Lovett  had  his  own  good 
news — several  scholarships  and 
a  lectureship  to  announce.  Cap- 
tain and  Mrs.  James  A.  Baker 
had  founded  a  studentship  named 
for  their  eldest  son,  the  late 
Frank  Graham  Baker.  It  would  be 
awarded  for  high  academic  stand- 
ing and  would  be  open  to  both 
male  and  female  undergradu- 
ates. The  Graham  Baker  Student 
would  hold  the  scholarship  for 
a  year  and  receive  a  stipend  of 
$360.  (The  amount  has  been 


raised  from  time  to  time,  to  $950 
in  1981.)  The  second  set  of  schol- 
arships was  given  by  the  late 
Lionel  Hohenthal,  a  Fiouston 
businessman,  as  a  memorial  to 
his  parents  and  brother.  Six  Fio- 
henthal  Scholars  would  receive 
stipends  of  $200  each,  and  like 
the  Graham  Baker  Studentship, 
the  Flohenthal  was  based  on  high 
scholastic  standing  and  was  open 
to  men  and  women.  The  lecture- 
ship and  four  additional  scholar- 
ships were  the  gifts  of  Estelle  B. 
Sharp,  widow  of  oilman  Walter  B. 
Sharp.  The  Sharp  Lectureship  in 
Civics  and  Philanthropy  estab- 
lished a  new  department  for  the 
training  of  social  workers  for  the 
South.  The  scholarships  were 
open  to  graduates  of  Rice  and 
other  institutions  and  were  to  be 
awarded  for  graduate  training  in 
social  work.'" 


The  Students'  Army 
Training  Corps 

By  the  summer  of  19 18,  January's 
uproar  over  the  ROTC  turned  out 
to  be  pointless.  The  federal  gov- 
ernment stepped  into  the  college 
military  situation  and  changed 
procedures  considerably.  Great 
German  offensives,  the  perilous 
situation  of  the  Allies,  the  lower- 
ing of  the  draft  age  to  eighteen, 
and  America's  effort  to  send  as 
many  recruits  as  possible  to  Eu- 
rope combined  to  put  an  enor- 
mous amount  of  pressure  on 
colleges.  If  war  continued  for 
long,  the  draft  might  actually 
empty  the  colleges  and  univer- 
sities of  students  and  faculty, 
causing  the  collapse  of  the  entire 


82 


The  Great  War 


system  of  higher  education  in  the 
United  States.  On  the  other  hand, 
the  college  student  body  was 
an  important  military  asset  as 
a  source  of  potential  officers. 
Furthermore,  the  students  were 
already  situated  in  places  with 
good  training  facilities;  new 
camps  would  not  be  needed.  A 
well-planned  system  of  mili- 
tary instruction  for  college  men 
would  foster  patriotic  participa- 
tion in  the  war  effort  while  justi- 
fying their  studies,  and  would  aid 
the  colleges  in  surviving  the  war. 
To  this  end  Congress  authorized 
the  establishment  of  the  Stu- 
dents' Army  Training  Corps,  the 
SATC.  Units  were  established  on 
at  least  four  hundred  academic 
campuses  in  1918.  Competent 
army  officers  were  sent  to  run 
the  programs,  and  the  schools  be- 
came armed  camps.  The  Rice  In- 
stitute joined  the  rest.'" 

When  classes  convened  in  the 
fall  of  19 1 8,  many  changes  had 
been  made.  First,  the  student 
body  was  severely  depleted  by  en- 
listments and  the  draft  and  by 
what  was  supposed  to  have  been 
a  practice  training  camp  at  Fort 
Sheridan,  Illinois.  A  contingent 
of  Rice  students  had  attended  the 
ROTC  camp  there  in  the  sum- 
mer, assuming  they  would  be 
back  at  the  Institute  in  the  fall. 
At  the  last  moment,  however, 
they  were  commissioned  and 
sent  to  the  army.  The  students 
who  returned  to  school  found  a 
real  army  camp  and  many  new- 
comers who  had  arrived  for  mili- 
tary training.  All  able-bodied 
students  who  were  United  States 
citizens  became  soldiers  in  the 
SATC  and  subject  to  military  dis- 


cipline. In  charge  was  another 
retired  army  officer,  Colonel 
Charles  I.  Crane.  The  army  sent  a 
staff  with  him,  and  this  time  the 
unit  ran  smoothly 

Under  the  SATC,  the  students' 
new  schedule  was  more  rigorous 
than  It  had  been  under  the  ROTC. 
Drill  occupied  two  hours  each 
morning;  the  period  from  7:30  to 
9:30  at  night  was  given  over  to 
"supervised  study."  In  addition  to 
everything  else,  students  had  to 
attend  a  special  war  issues  course 
that  combined  English  composi- 
tion, history,  political  science, 
and  philosophy.  All  of  this  left 
little  time  for  more  normal  col- 
lege pursuits.  Football  games  did 
continue  (the  Owls  played  a  sth 
Division  Army  team  as  well  as 
teams  from  Kelly  Field  in  San 
Antonio  and  the  University  of 
Texas),  but  other  extracurric- 
ular activities  dwindled.  The 
Thresher,  like  student  news- 
papers all  over  the  country,  sus- 
pended publication. 

The  Campus  Returns 
to  Normal 

Fortunately  the  war  ended  in  No- 
vember, and  the  SATC  began  to 
demobilize  and  discharge  that 
very  month."'  Both  students  and 
faculty  were  glad  to  be  rid  of  it. 
In  faculty  meetings  the  question 
of  retaining  any  military  features 
on  campus  was  unanimously  an- 
swered with  a  resounding  no.  All 
forms  of  the  military  regime 
should  vanish  as  soon  as  practica- 
ble. President  Lovett  notified  the 
army  that  the  school  did  not 
even  want  an  ROTC  unit  on 


campus.  The  experiment  had 
been  interesting  in  some  ways, 
but  everyone  wanted  to  get  back 
to  business  as  usual  in  the  spring 
of  1 9 19.  The  Thresher  started 
publishing  again,  class  and  Stu- 
dent Council  officers  were  elected, 
students  resumed  their  regular 
studies,  and  many  former  class- 
mates came  home  from  the  war.'° 

Rice  was  not,  however,  un- 
affected by  the  experiences  of  the 
war  and  its  aftermath.  The  most 
lasting  change  was  in  the  Insti- 
tute's administration.  It  had  be- 
come clear,  partly  because  of  the 
Tape  episode  and  partly  because 
of  the  growth  of  the  school,  that 
Rice  needed  formal  administra- 
tors, with  specific  duties  and  ju- 
risdictions. Dr.  Lovett  traveled  a 
good  deal  in  his  role  as  president, 
and  the  university  needed  some- 
one explicitly  in  charge  when  he 
was  out  of  town.  One  of  the  stu- 
dents' major  complaints  had  been 
the  difficulty  and  impersonality 
of  bringing  grievances  to  and  ob- 
taining redress  from  McCants 
or  the  Military  Committee.  Dur- 
ing the  summer  of  19 18  Lovett 
and  lames  Baker  had  begun  to 
discuss  with  members  of  the 
board  and  the  faculty  the  idea  of 
appointing  a  dean  as  their  liaison 
with  the  students.  Stockton  Ax- 
son  favored  having  a  dean  as  a 
"shock-absorber"  to  deal  with 
the  students,  learn  their  views, 
and  help  them  when  needed. 
Raymond  R  Hawes,  instructor  in 
education,  testified  that  the  pro- 
cedure of  applying  to  committees 
and  faculty  advisers  seemed  "ar- 
bitrary" to  the  students:  "irra- 
tional, autocratic,  mechanical, 
and  coldly  inhuman."  But  in- 


The  Great  War 


stallation  of  the  SATC  in  the  fall 
had  precluded  any  immediate  ac- 
tion by  the  board." 

As  soon  as  the  SATC  had  dis- 
banded, Lovett  brought  the  mat- 
ter of  the  dean  and  two  other 
offices  before  the  board.  He  rec- 
ommended authorizing  a  dean  to 
oversee  student  attendance,  con- 
duct, and  discipline;  a  registrar  to 
keep  all  records  of  registrations, 
attendance,  examinations,  and 
academic  standing  of  the  stu- 
dents; and  a  bursar  to  have  re- 
sponsibility for  business  and 
material  equipment  and  to  act  as 
purchasing  agent  for  all  depart- 
ments. On  February  26,  1919,  the 
trustees  appointed  Robert  G. 
Caldwell,  assistant  professor  of 
history,  as  dean;  Samuel  G.  Mc- 
Cann,  instructor  of  history,  as 
registrar;  and  John  T.  McCants, 
secretary  to  the  president,  as  bur- 
sar. Caldwell  remained  a  history 
professor,  while  McCann  became 
an  instructor  in  jurisprudence 
and  McCants  an  instructor  in 
business  administration.  (It  ap- 
pears that  the  decision  to  include 
a  course  in  business  administra- 
tion in  the  university  program 
was  connected  with  increasing 
pressure  for  some  degree  of  com- 
mercial instruction  in  the  regular 
liberal  arts  plan.  "By  entrusting 
this  work  to  Mr.  McCants,  these 
pressures  could  be  controlled  and 
confined  within  limits  as  little 
harmful  to  the  goals  and  pur- 
poses of  the  humanities  as  could 
be  expected  from  this  intrusion 
of  vocational  instruction,"  histo- 
rian Floyd  Seyward  Lear  later 
remarked.)" 

There  is  some  indication  that 
the  position  of  dean  was  intended 


to  be  temporary  and  strictly  sepa- 
rate from  professional  duties — 
temporary  because  many  circum- 
stances might  make  it  necessary 
to  resign  the  office,  and  separate 
so  that  the  officeholder  had  nei- 
ther to  give  up  his  academic  ac- 
tivities (as  professor  of  history  in 
this  case)  nor  to  prejudice  his  ac- 
ademic salary  or  position.  In  the 
first  few  years  Caldwell  received 
two  salary  checks,  one  for  each 
position.  This  was  not  the  day 
of  highly  paid  administrators 
at  Rice;  Caldwell  received  only 
$1,000  for  his  deanship,  and 
his  entire  salary  for  the  school 
year  1919-20  was  84,000.  As  it 
evolved,  the  deanship  remained 
neither  temporary  nor  separate. 
Caldwell  found  that  the  separate 
spheres  merged  and  that  his  own 
work  as  a  historian  suffered. 
Hardly  temporary,  Caldwell  was 
dean,  the  dean  of  the  Rice  Insti- 
tute, for  fifteen  years,  until  he 
left  to  become  ambassador  to 
Portugal  in  1933." 

Public  Reaction  to 
Rice  Professors 

Besides  hastening  the  organiza- 
tion of  a  formal  administration, 
the  Great  War  and  its  aftermath 
had  another,  less  salutary  effect 
on  the  Rice  Institute:  off-campus 
opinion  about  professors'  views. 
From  the  earliest  days,  Hous- 
tonians  and  other  Texans  had 
paid  close  attention  to  Rice  lec- 
tures on  history,  philosophy,  reli- 
gion, and  biology.  lulian  Huxley, 
speaking  in  191 6  on  biology  and 
man,  sex,  the  state,  and  religion, 
had  stirred  up  a  controversy 


when  he  advocated  equal  rights 
for  women  and  introduced  the 
idea  of  human  evolution  from  a 
tailless  ape.  One  Huxley  lecture 
on  the  development  of  religion 
provoked  a  letter  to  the  editor  of 
the  Chronicle  asking  if  Rice  stu- 
dents were  not  being  misled  and 
prejudiced  against  Christianity 
by  a  professor  "obsessed  by  the 
idea  of  evolution"  and  deter- 
mined to  apply  that  unproven 
theory  to  religion.  A  local  citizen 
who  had  seen  a  newspaper  article 
on  Tape  had  written  Captain 
lames  Baker  to  state  his  support 
for  the  students'  right  of  petition 
and,  incidentally,  his  opposition 
to  the  teaching  of  "Infidelity,  Ag- 
nosticism and  Evolution.""- 
A  potentially  more  serious 
matter  involved  the  Houston 
Ministers'  Alliance,  an  organiza- 
tion of  some  of  the  city's  Protes- 
tant clergy.  In  1918  the  alliance 
requested  a  statement  from  Presi- 
dent Lovett  on  two  points:  did 
the  president  and  board  "endorse 
and  approve  the  teaching  of  athe- 
ism, agnosticism  or  infidelity"  by 
the  teachers  at  the  Institute,  and 
did  the  president  and  board  inter- 
pret academic  freedom  as  guaran- 
teeing teachers  "the  privilege  of 
publishing  and  declaring  as  truth, 
certain  individual  views  which 
ignore  the  being  of  God,  discredit 
the  belief  in  the  inspiration  of  the 
Bible  and  repudiate  the  thought 
of  faith  in  the  Divinity  of  Jesus 
Christ"?  While  the  ministers  said 
that  they  recognized  they  had  no 
just  cause  in  asking  that  the  fac- 
ulty declare  their  religious  con- 
victions— or  lack  of  them — and 
that  the  board  had  the  right  to 
hire  whomever  they  pleased — 


84 


The  Great  War 


"Mohammedan,  Buddhist,  pa- 
gan, or  Christian" — the  ministers 
still  thought  themselves  "in  the 
bounds  of  courtesy,  fairness  and 
right"  in  asking  for  a  statement. 
President  Lovett  suggested  to 
the  board  that  he  respond  to  the 
questions  first  by  pointing  out 
how  Rice  had  sought  to  give  ex- 
pression to  the  religious  aspect  of 
the  university.  Members  of  the 
clergy  had  participated  in  an  im- 
portant way  in  the  formal  open- 
ing and  dedication  in  19 12  and 
had  continued  to  take  part  in 
commencement  convocations. 
Nor  were  the  students  without 
religious  guidance.  The  YMCA, 
YWCA,  and  Menorah  Society 
were  official  organizations,  and 
each  year  the  school  sent  to  ap- 
propriate clergy  of  every  denomi- 
nation the  names  and  addresses 
of  students  who  had  indicated  a 
religious  preference.  Further- 
more, the  trustees  as  individuals 
were  known  to  support  religious 
enterprises  in  the  city,  state,  and 
nation.  Concerning  the  questions 
raised  by  the  Ministers'  Alliance, 
however,  Lovett  did  not  want  to 
take  a  position.  He  suggested  an- 
swering that  the  board  neither 
approved  nor  disapproved  the 
teaching  of  atheism  or  theism, 
agnosticism  or  gnosticism,  in- 
fidelity or  fidelity.  Neither  did 
the  trustees  interpret  academic 
freedom  as  guaranteeing  or  deny- 
ing the  religious  convictions  of 
the  faculty.  In  other  words,  "The 
Trustees  in  their  corporate  capac- 
ity cannot  commit  the  university 
to  the  advocacy  of  either  side  of 
controversial  theological  ques- 
tions." Lovett  also  doubted  that 
any  group  of  theologians  would 


agree  unanimously  on  the  contro- 
versial points  in  the  ministers' 
questions. 

Lovett  did  not  think  that  he 
was  dodging  the  questions  with 
these  answers;  rather,  he  thought 
that  he  was  facing  the  issue 
squarely.  "We  are  building  a  uni- 
versity," he  wrote,  "not  a  school 
of  Hebrew  theology,  nor  of  Chris- 
tian theism,  nor  a  school  of  ra- 
tionalistic philosophy,  nor  of 
mechanistic  interpretation  of  the 
universe,  nor  of  any  one  of  a 
hundred  other  special  systems 
of  thought  or  speculation  or 
knowledge  or  faith."  A  university 
sought  the  truth,  and  a  university 
that  imposed  its  trustees'  individ- 
ual views  (no  matter  what  kind) 
on  Its  students  was  a  contradic- 
tion in  terms  to  Lovett.  The 
search  for  truth  could  flourish 
only  in  an  atmosphere  of  respon- 
sible freedom  in  which  people 
looked  at  all  sides  of  an  issue. 
Lovett  thought  that  the  strength 
of  the  Rice  foundation  lay  in  its 
freedom;  neither  partisan,  sec- 
tarian, nor  educational  prejudices 
stood  in  the  way  of  the  trustees, 
faculty,  and  students.  He  did  not 
believe  that  the  university  ex- 
isted in  a  vacuum;  quite  to  the 
contrary,  he  knew  that  the  rela- 
tionships of  university  to  state 
and  university  to  church  were  as 
important  as  freedom  from  con- 
trol. He  saw  all  three  institutions 
not  as  fixed  and  final  but  as  fluid 
and  forming,  constantly  chang- 
ing, each  helping  the  other.  (The 
president  was  an  optimist;  he 
thought  that  change  was  usually 
for  the  better.)  At  the  same  time, 
he  believed  that  the  spirit  of  sci- 
ence in  universities  and  the  con- 


cepts of  duty,  conduct,  and  deity 
in  religion  led  to  a  better  life  and 
civilization.  While  the  religious 
and  scientific  aspects  of  this  uni- 
verse were  separate,  they  could 
blend.  Lovett  believed  that  a 
comprehension  of  modern  sci- 
ence combined  easily  with  a  pro- 
found and  reverent  faith.  One  did 
not  exclude  the  other,  as  the 
Ministers'  Alliance  evidently 
feared." 

Politics,  not  religion,  caused 
the  next  occasion  for  disharmony 
between  the  people  at  Rice  and 
Houstomans.  In  May  1919  Russia 
was  much  on  people's  minds.  Its 
Communist  leaders  were  talking 
of  worldwide  revolution,  and 
some  fighting  was  still  going  on 
in  northern  Russia  and  Siberia, 
where  Americans  had  joined  the 
British  and  others  in  intervening 
in  the  Russian  civil  war.  It  would 
not  be  long  before  the  United 
States  would  go  through  a  period 
of  internal  suspicion  called  "the 
Red  Scare." 

The  controversy  started  in- 
nocuously. Lyford  P.  Edwards,  in- 
structor in  sociology,  spoke  to 
the  adult  Sunday  school  class  of 
the  First  Congregational  Church 
on  Russia  and  the  Soviet  govern- 
ment during  a  series  of  lectures 
entitled  "Ideals  of  Social  lustice." 
The  theme  of  this  series  was  the 
forms  of  government  maintained 
in  European  countries  and  their 
adaptability  to  modern  society.  In 
the  course  of  his  lecture,  Edwards 
remarked  that  if  the  Soviet  sys- 
tem was  successful  and  became 
permanently  established,  then  in 
a  hundred  years  Lenin  would  be 
considered  in  Russia  in  the  same 
way  that  George  Washington  was 


The  Great  War 


85 


regarded  in  the  United  States.  Ed- 
wards thought  that  Lenin  was  a 
greater  ideahst  than  Washing- 
ton— that  he  was,  in  fact,  one  of 
the  greatest  ideaUsts  of  all  times 
and  that  the  Soviet  form  of  gov- 
ernment would  prove  to  be  su- 
perior in  efficiency  to  all  others. 
He  also  referred  to  Washing- 
ton's legendary  honesty,  saying 
something  to  the  effect  (his  exact 
words  cannot  be  reconstructed) 
that  that  integrity  was  not  above 
question.  J.  W.  Hawley,  a  guest  of 
one  of  the  Sunday  school  mem- 
bers, took  exception  to  Edwards's 
remarks.  After  an  argument  that 
included  other  members  of  the 
class,  Hawley  and  his  host  walked 
out  rather  than  hear  Washington 
and  the  country  "maligned." 
These  facts  seem  cleat;  but 
soon  the  situation  became  more 
complicated.  First,  the  Houston 
Post  reported  the  episode  with 
headlines  claiming  that  Edwards 
had  praised  the  Soviets  and  Lenin 
(spelled  "Lenine"  in  the  papers). 
Four  days  after  the  event,  an  edi- 
torial in  that  paper  called  Ed- 
wards "an  incubator  of  bolshe- 
vism"  and  "a  morbid  intellec- 
tual" and  labeled  his  remarks 
"utterances  that  smack  of  trea- 
son." Next  A.  E.  Amerman,  the 
mayor  of  Houston,  ordered  an  in- 
vestigation of  the  lecture  by  the 
city  attorney,  Kenneth  Krahl.  The 
major  sent  the  affidavits  and 
statements  gathered  in  the  inves- 
tigation to  the  Rice  trustees  and 
told  them  that  he  regarded  Ed- 
wards's remarks  as  only  "an  in- 
temperate effervescence  of  an 
over-specialized  mentality."  He 
said,  however,  that  the  time  had 
come  to  choose  sides:  "pure 


old-fashioned  Americanism"  or 
the  new  "freak"  doctrines.  The 
mayor  thought  that  Rice  stu- 
dents' minds  were  being  "warped 
in  pursuit  of  these  intellectual 
'isms.'"  Captain  Baker  responded 
that  the  trustees  would  conduct 
their  own  investigation  as  soon 
as  they  all  returned  to  Houston. 
(Almost  all  of  them  had  been  out 
of  town  when  the  story  first  ap- 
peared in  the  papers.)  Baker  was 
not  particularly  happy  with  what 
he  called  the  newspaper's  "hue 
and  cry."  He  and  trustee  John  T 
Scott  called  for  calm  and  a  sus- 
pension of  judgment  until  the 
facts  could  be  ascertained. 

While  the  board  tried  to  deter- 
mine the  true  story,  both  sides 
gathered  their  support.  Thirty- 
one  members  of  the  Sunday 
school  class  sided  with  Edwards. 
Dean  Caldwell  of  Rice  pointed  to 
Edwards's  war  work  and  sub- 
scription to  Liberty  Bonds,  even 
though  Edwards  was  a  Canadian 
citizen.  Rice  students  supported 
the  sociology  instructor  but 
fanned  the  flames  of  controversy 
with  a  demonstration  waving  red 
banners  and  a  statement  by  one 
student  that  Edwards  had  mis- 
judged his  audience,  thinking  he 
was  "talking  to  a  group  com- 
posed entirely  of  intelligent  per- 
sons and  it  turned  out  he  wasn't." 
For  the  other  side,  the  Axson 
Club,  a  group  of  women  in- 
terested in  literature  but  not 
formally  affiliated  with  the  Insti- 
tute, called  for  Edwards's  dis- 
missal. The  Post  continued  to 
publish  editorial  statements  on 
the  matter:  "Still,  if  there  are  fi- 
broid-brained fools  in  this  com- 
munity who  think  that  Rice 


Institute  ought  to  develop  its 
technological  courses  before  in- 
stituting a  Chair  of  Bolshevism, 
we  reckon  it  would  be  better  to 
humor  their  ignorance  and  preju- 
dice. Bolshevism  is  just  a  little 
too  intellectual  for  the  most  of 
us."  And,  "Of  course,  if  Dr.  L.  R 
Edwards  doesn't  like  George 
Washington,  he  might  find  a 
character  that  would  suit  him 
better  in  the  late  Benedict  Ar- 
nold, John  Wilkes  or  Aaron  Burr." 
(The  commentator  seems  to  have 
forgotten  John  Wilkes  Booth's 
last  name.) 

Two  weeks  after  Edwards's 
eventful  lecture,  the  Board  of 
Trustees  reported  their  decision. 
They  had  found  it  impossible  to 
determine  whether  or  not  the 
views  Edwards  expressed  in  his 
lecture  were  unpatriotic,-  of  the 
members  of  his  audience,  only 
the  two  who  walked  out  had 
taken  exception  to  what  he  had 
said.  Statements  gathered  from 
witnesses  were  variant  and 
contradictory.  From  everything 
the  board  knew  of  Edwards,  he 
was  loyal  and  patriotic  and  had 
proved  those  qualities  during  the 
war.  Nevertheless,  they  asked  for 
his  resignation,  because  "he  pos- 
sesses certain  views  in  respect  to 
the  political  conditions  in  Rus- 
sia, the  character  of  Lenine,  and 
some  of  the  prevailing  sentiment 
of  the  people  of  this  and  the  Al- 
lied countries,  and  so  contrary  to 
the  fundamental  principles  of  our 
government,  as,  in  the  opinion  of 
the  Trustees,  to  utterly  destroy 
his  further  usefulness  to  the  In- 
stitute." The  trustees  went  on  to 
express  their  belief  in  academic 
freedom  but  noted  that,  "in  times 


86 


The  Great  War 


like  these,"  indisereet  persons 
might  impair  their  influence  or 
destroy  their  usefulness  by  word 
or  deed.  The  board  pledged  to 
hire  no  one  who  did  not  measure 
up  to  the  highest  standard  of 
American  citizenship. 

Edwards  tendered  his  resigna- 
tion and  left  town,  a  bit  more 
abruptly  than  he  had  planned. 
Several  friends  came  to  his  rooms 
and  warned  that  a  mob  was  form- 
ing downtown  to  come  out  and 
"get"  him.  Edwards  hurriedly 
packed  his  belongings  into  a  suit- 
case and  boarded  a  train  for  Chi- 
cago "at  a  subordinate  station  at 
an  uncomfortable  hour." 

Both  the  Post  and  the  Chroni- 
cle congratulated  the  trustees  for 
a  fair-minded  and  unprejudiced 
investigation  and  congratulated 


VM 


iSTlRSOTMENT 

;Rice  Institute  Instructor  on 
I     Sociology  Declares  He  Was 
Grossly  Misquoted  in  His 
Russian  References. 


Harry  W.  Freeman,  Attorney. 
Also  Comes  Forwarc^  ^  ith 
Statement  on  Study  Civcle 

,     at  Congregational  Church. 


RICE  INSTITUTE 
PROFESSOR  LAUDS 
BOLSHEVIK  HEAD 

Dr.  F.  C.  Edwards  Declares 

in  Lecture  That  Lenine  Is 

Greater    Idealist    Than 

George  Washington 


PRAISES  SOVIET 

GOVERNMENT 


J.  H.  Hawley  Takes  Issue 

With  Speaker  When  the 

Honesty  of  U.  S.'s  First 

President  Questioned 


RICE'S  TROSTEES 
WILL  INVESTIGATE 
LENINE  EULOGIST 

President  Lovett  of  Institute 
Announces  That  Dr.  Ed- 
wards'     Preachments 
Will    Be   Sifted 

STUDENTS    DEFEND 
.STRANGE  DOCTRINE 

H.FI.  Robinson  Makes  .\f- 1 
fidavit  That  Rice  Instruct- 
or   -Asserted    Lenine 
Superior  to  W  ilson 


RICE  INSTITUTE  HOME  OF  "ISMS" 
IS  REPORT  MADE  BY  THE  MAYOR,^ 
AFTER  READING  OF  AFFIDAVITS 


In  Letter  City's  Executive  Transmits  Testimony 
Taken  in  Developing  "Social  Justice  '  Utter- 
ances of  Dr.  Lyford  Edwards  in  Sociological 
Lecture. 


Captain  James  A.  Baker.  Chairman  of  the  Board 
of  Trustees  of  the  Institute,  Announces  a 
Thorough  Investigation  and  Invites  the  PublicI 
To  Join  Therein. 


68.  Headlines  from  the  Houston  Post  and  Houston  Chronicle  about  the  speech  of  sociology  instructor  Lyford  P. 
Edwards,  May  14-19,  19 19. 


The  Great  War 


87 


the  pubhc  and  themselves  for  in- 
spiring the  trustees  to  decide  the 
matter  in  a  manner  favorable  to 
their  viev^^s.  The  trustees,  how- 
ever, were  unhappy  about  the  up- 
roar and  expressed  their  displea- 
sure in  the  second  half  of  their 
statement  concerning  Edwards's 
resignation.  They  spoke  of  the 
possible  damage  done  to  the  In- 
stitute by  the  discontented  mem- 
bers of  the  Sunday  school  class, 
by  the  local  press,  the  mayor,  the 
complaining  organizations,  and 
some  citizens  at  large.  The  Insti- 
tute could  do  Its  best  only  when 
it  won  the  devotion  of  its  stu- 
dents and  the  respect  and  confi- 
dence of  their  parents.  Charges 
against  the  loyalty  of  any  faculty 
member,  charges  broadcast  by 
press  and  pulpit,  charges  made 
without  the  chance  for  responsi- 
ble investigation  did  "incalcula- 
ble harm"  to  the  Institute.  The 
trustees  would  have  preferred 
that  the  original  complainer, 
Hawley,  had  laid  the  matter  be- 
fore the  president  or  the  board 
first  and  that  the  press  had  pur- 
sued the  same  course.  They  de- 
plored the  melodrama  of  the 
episode  and  the  demand  for  sen- 
sationalism shown  by  all  parties. 
They  even  compared  that  de- 
mand to  "the  depraved  taste  of 
the  populace"  in  the  "decadent 
days"  of  Rome.  The  trustees 
closed  their  statement  by  ex- 
pressing their  hope  that  the 
Houston  public  would  be  helpful 
and  cooperative;  they  pledged 
their  receptiveness  to  suggestion 
and  advice  on  any  matter  affect- 
ing the  Institute. 

The  students  indicated  their 
displeasure  with  the  board's  ac- 


tions by  holding  a  short  demon- 
stration for  Edwards  in  the  Com- 
mons, but  they  could  do  little 
else.  The  faculty,  who  had  re- 
frained from  comment  during  the 
week's  events,  passed  a  resolu- 
tion on  academic  freedom.  It 
stated  their  position  that  every 
instructor  should  be  responsible 
for  ability,  character,  and  con- 
duct, not  for  personal  beliefs.  It 
argued  further  that  actions  that 
limited  freedom  of  thought  and 
cast  doubt  on  the  honesty  of 
teaching  seriously  compromised 
the  independence  of  the  univer- 
sity. However,  the  faculty  did  not 
condemn  the  board  but  promised 
its  cooperation  in  service  to  the 
community  and  to  the  broader 
cause  of  education.  There  were 
rumors  that  several  faculty  mem- 
bers were  going  to  resign,  even 
that  President  Lovett  was  consid- 
ering that  measure  himself;  but 
no  one  did. 

The  Evans  episode  points  to  a 
public  relations  problem  that 
Rice,  its  trustees,  and  its  presi- 
dent faced  from  the  beginning. 
Often  the  view  of  the  institution 
held  by  its  board,  administration, 
and  faculty  contrasted  with  the 
public's  estimate.  During  the 
time  when  the  first  buildings 
were  being  constructed,  Hous- 
tonians  wanted  to  know  what 
was  happening  at  "their"  Insti- 
tute. The  board  members,  on  the 
other  hand,  saw  the  Institute  as 
their  personal  concern,  as  indeed 
legally  it  was.  To  such  business- 
men, who  were  accustomed  to 
handling  their  own  affairs  with 
no  aid  and  certainly  without  di- 
vulging the  reasons  for  their  ac- 
tions, an  intrusion  into  their 


domain  by  the  mayor  and  the 
press  was  unwelcome.  The  public 
outcry  was  exacerbated  by  the 
widespread  ignorance  that  most 
Houstomans  had  about  what  ac- 
tually went  on  at  Rice.  Almost 
all  they  saw  or  heard  or  read 
about  the  school  concerned  sports 
results  or  the  scheduled  public 
lectures.  With  the  exception  of  a 
few  professors  such  as  Lovett, 
Axson,  and  Tsanoff,  Rice  faculty 
seldom  ventured  off  campus; 
they  were  not  widely  known  or 
connected  with  events  noticed  by 
the  general  public.  Both  Houston 
newspapers  noted  the  aloof- 
ness— to  some,  snobbery — of 
the  people  at  the  Institute;  the 
Chronicle  called  for  information 
on  the  university's  good  works, 
"instead  of  hearing  of  it  only 
when  some  freak  discussion  has 
taken  place."  One  writer  called 
for  more  statements  of  Dr.  Lov- 
ett's  views  and  asked  the  presi- 
dent to  "identify  himself  more 
with  the  student  life  and  the  ev- 
eryday life  of  the  town." 

Except  for  Edwards's  departure, 
very  little  changed  as  a  result  of 
the  imbroglio  over  his  lecture. 
The  board  continued  to  conduct 
its  affairs  without  advice  from 
outside,  and  the  Institute  au- 
thorities returned  to  dealing 
with  normal  problems  involving 
students,  grades,  lectures,  and 
research.'" 


CHAPTER      5 


Consolidation:  The  1920s 


In  1 92 1  two  Rice  students,  Eli- 
sha  D.  Embree  and  Thomas  B. 
Easton,  veterans  of  the  war,  pub- 
lished a  httle  picture  book  called 
The  Flying  Owls:  Rice  Institute 
from  the  Air.  The  photographs 
taken  from  high  above  the  cam- 
pus reveal  a  Rice  Institute  m  a 
serene  setting,  almost  afloat  in  a 
seemingly  boundless  prairie. 
Closer  shots  show  manicured 
hedges;  today's  large  oaks  are 
only  raw  saplings;  vintage  autos 
are  parked  with  a  fine  disregard 
for  order  or  egress  in  front  of  the 
Administration  Building;  an  eerie 
forest  looms  in  Hermann  Park  on 
the  other  side  of  a  newly  paved 
Main  Street;  and  a  few  Rice  peo- 
ple loiter  around  the  Sallyport. 
Downtown  Houston  appears  in 
the  remote  background  in  some 
of  the  shots,  but  the  Institute 
seems  removed  from  the  bustle, 
almost  unpopulated.  In  some 
ways,  however,  the  opposite  was 
true,  and  the  pictures  of  10,000 
fans  filling  the  stands  for  the 
Ricc-A&M  football  game  on  Ar- 
mistice Day  might  be  a  better 


representation  of  the  situation  in 
1 92 1,  for  Rice  was  becoming 
overcrowded.' 

Enrollment  had  been  increas- 
ing since  the  war  ended,  and  in 
the  1920s  it  continued  to  rise.  In 

1 92 1  approximately  860  students 
were  attending  the  Institute;  in 

1922  the  number  was  over  900, 
and  in  1923  it  was  about  i,oso. 
The  existing  buildings  could  not 
accommodate  such  numbers; 
laboratories  were  especially 
crowded.  In  1920  there  were 
more  registrations  in  chemistry 
classes  than  there  were  desks. 
The  senior  lab  was  held  at  night, 
and  seven  professors  and  graduate 
students  were  attempting  to  con- 
duct research  in  a  space  built  for 
four.  By  1923  the  biology  depart- 
ment had  to  turn  down  prospec- 
tive graduate  students  because 
there  was  simply  no  room  to  put 
any  more.' 


Two  Solutions  to 
Overcrowding 

Two  solutions  were  discussed 
and  put  into  action.  First  was  an 
expansion  of  facilities.  The  char- 
ter had  established  a  sinking  fund 
of  one-tenth  of  the  increase  of 
the  endowment,  to  be  used  for 
betterments  and  improvements. 
The  fund  had  accumulated  suf- 
ficient value  to  finance  a  new 
building,  and  in  1923  the  Board 
of  Trustees  laid  the  cornerstone 
for  the  Chemistry  Building.  De- 
signed in  a  simplified  Mediterra- 
nean style  that  blended  with  the 
existing  architecture,  the  build- 
ing was  completed  in  1925.  The 
Field  House  had  opened  in  1921 
to  house  physical  training  classes 
and  intramural  and  intercollegi- 
ate sports,  and  it  had  been  the 
first  new  structure  on  campus 
since  the  original  academic 
buildings  and  residential  halls 
had  been  completed.  Opening  the 
Chemistry  Building  allowed 
classroom  and  laboratory  facili- 
ties to  expand  and  alleviate  over- 


The  1920s 


89 


crowding,  but  there  was  httle 
room  to  spare. 

The  administrators  of  the  Insti- 
tute therefore  had  to  implement 
the  second  remedy:  hmitmg  the 
number  admitted  to  each  fresh- 
man class.  The  faculty  had  begun 
to  scrutinize  admission  require- 
ments after  the  war,  and  in  1919 
they  raised  the  required  number 
of  high  school  credits  from  four- 
teen to  fourteen-and-a-half.  In 
1920  the  number  was  raised 
again,  to  fifteen.  Entrance  with 
only  thirteen  credits  was  still  al- 
lowed in  special  cases,  but  some 
faculty  members  opposed  this  re- 
laxation of  standards.  In  192 1  the 
Admissions  Committee  recom- 
mended that  admission  with 
fewer  than  fifteen  units  be  treated 
distinctly  as  an  exception  but 
that  henceforth  two  units  of 
Latin  be  acceptable,  instead  of 
three  or  more.  These  changes  did 
not  diminish  the  numbers  seek- 
ing admission  to  Rice,  however, 
and  in  the  spring  of  1923  the  fac- 
ulty first  considered  numerical 
limits  to  the  freshman  class.' 

At  this  point  the  Committee 
on  Examinations  and  Standing 
took  over  the  planning  of  admis- 
sions. Its  report,  subsequently 
adopted  by  the  faculty,  called 
for  refusing  admission  to  those 
who  had  fewer  than  fifteen  high 
school  units;  it  also  recom- 
mended denying  freshmen  per- 
mission to  enroll  in  fewer  than 
five  courses  except  in  special  cir- 
cumstances. The  committee 
stressed  raising  the  quality  of  the 
entering  class,  a  goal  that  was  as 
strong  a  motivation  for  limitation 
as  were  the  overcrowded  class- 
rooms. The  faculty  did  not  vote 


I       ■■■        '  '•III,.. 


69-71.  Aerial  photographs  from  The  Flying  Owls.  69.  The  Administration 
Buildmg,  Physics  Laboratory,  and  dormitory  group.  70.  Autry  House,  "The 
Owl."  and  Main  Street  Boulevard.  71.  The  residential  halls  and  Commons, 
looking  east  across  Main  Street  Boulevard.  Autry  House  is  across  the  street. 


90 


The  1920s 


to  set  a  specific  number  for  the 
new  class  entering  in  the  fall  of 
1923,  but  it  appears  that  the  com- 
mittee took  matters  into  its  own 
hands  and  closed  enrollment  in 
the  freshman  class  at  400/ 

In  November  1923  the  faculty 
began  specific  discussions  about 
how  to  restrict  the  number  of  un- 
dergraduates, and  they  quickly  ar- 
rived at  a  two-part  plan.  The 
philosophy  behind  the  plan  was 
based  on  three  ideas.  First, 
the  faculty  wanted  to  meet  the 
increased  demand  for  college 
training  while  maintaining  the 
highest  standards  of  instruction. 
Second,  they  wanted  to  admit 
students  on  a  competitive  basis 
in  order  to  get  the  very  best 
freshmen.  To  cause  no  injustice 
to  well-qualified  applicants,  the 
number  admitted  was  to  be  flexi- 
ble, determined  both  by  the  de- 
mand and  by  the  facilities.  Third, 


the  faculty  was  deeply  interested 
in  reducing  the  size  of  classes 
in  the  required  courses.  They 
wanted  a  limit  of  thirty  in  each 
section  of  Math  100  and  in  the 
100  and  200  sections  of  English, 
Spanish,  and  French. 

Specifically,  the  plan  called  for 
admitting  400  freshmen  direct 
from  high  school  for  the  year 
1924-25.  That  would  mean  a 
freshman  class  of  about  490, 
counting  transfers  and  those  not 
promoted  from  the  previous  year. 
Total  enrollment  would  be  ap- 
proximately 1,100.  Sections  in 
the  required  courses  would  be 
limited  to  30  students.  When  the 
faculty  determined  admission, 
they  would  give  preference  to 
those  who  had  the  maximum 
number  of  units  in  English, 
mathematics,  foreign  languages, 
science,  and  history,  to  those  in 
the  upper  half  of  their  high  school 


classes  who  showed  special 
promise  and  capacity  for  leader- 
ship, to  those  who  were  not  in 
the  first  two  groups  but  who 
proved  their  fitness  by  high  per- 
formance on  entrance  examina- 
tions, and  to  those  who  applied 
early.  No  candidate  would  be  ac- 
cepted with  fewer  than  fifteen 
units,  but  once  chosen,  appli- 
cants would  be  received  without 
conditions.  The  faculty  also  de- 
cided to  maintain  the  existing 
ratio  of  men  to  women  of  two  to 
one.  The  freshman  class  of  1923 
comprised  266  men  and  134 
women.' 

The  committee,  the  faculty, 
and  the  administration  all  real- 
ized that  the  plan  might  be  criti- 
cized in  public,  and  the  commit- 
tee's report  and  a  subsequent 
notice  to  the  faculty  rehearsed 
some  arguments  in  favor  of  lim- 
itation. One  advantage  was  that 
the  Institute  could  plan  carefully 
before  increasing  the  number  of 
students  and  could  ensure  that 
there  would  be  enough  faculty 
and  facilities  for  them.  The  desir- 
ability of  early  application  was 
obvious:  "People  prize  what  they 
have  to  make  a  definite  effort  to 
secure."  The  plan  would  weed 
out  those  applicants  less  well  fit- 
ted for  academic  life  and  would 
create  "a  body  of  students  care- 
fully selected  to  take  full  advan- 
tage of  the  opportunity  which 
they  have  before  them."  Finally 
the  committee  emphasized  that 
in  presenting  the  plan  to  the  pub- 
lic, the  Institute  should  leave  the 
impression  not  of  a  rigid  scheme, 
but  of  a  flexible  one:  practical, 
workable,  and  just.  Rice  should 
not  seem  to  be  shutting  "the  door 


The  1920s 


91 


72.  Exterior  view  of  the  new  Chemistry  Buil 


Xpnl  28,  1926. 


of  opportunity  permanently  to 
well  qualified  students,"  or  so  the 
faculty  thought." 

The  trustees  voted  in  March 
1924  to  endorse  and  authorize 
the  plan,  and  that  autumn  the 
Rice  Institute  began  to  limit  en- 
rollment. But  overcrowding  con- 
tinued despite  restricted  admis- 
sions. Fewer  students  left  than  in 
previous  years,  and  as  a  result 
nearly  1,300  students  were  en- 
rolled in  1926.  To  accommodate 
the  greater  numbers,  there  was  a 
shift  in  the  class  schedules; 
classes  began  on  the  hour  instead 
of  the  half  hour  (they  started  at 
8:00  A.M.  instead  of  8:30  and  con- 
tinued until  1:00  P.M.  instead  of 
12:30)  to  provide  another  period 
each  day. 


73.  One  of  the  carvings  on  the  capitals  of  the  Chemistry  Buildmg  columns. 
Dean  Weiser  is  the  dragon  holding  down  a  chemistry  student. 


92 


The  1920s 


Other  Solutions 

In  1927  both  tacuhy  and  trustees 
considered  other  ways  to  Umit 
enrollment.  Registrar  S.  G.  Mc- 
Cann  suggested  in  May  that  ad- 
mission requirements  be  raised 
again,  that  only  those  in  the  top 
half  of  their  high  school  classes 
be  accepted,  that  a  tuition  fee  of 
Sioo  to  S200  be  charged  for  out- 
of-state  students,  and  that  equal 
numbers  of  men  and  women  be 
admitted  to  all  departments,  in- 
cluding engineering.  (Up  to  this 
point  women  and  men  had  been 
admitted  in  equal  numbers  only 
to  the  academic  course.)  Mc- 
Cann's  proposal  did  not  carry  the 
faculty.  In  June  the  board  stepped 
in  and  voted  not  to  accept  any 
more  out-of-state  students.  (Eigh- 
teen had  already  been  accepted.  T 
Some  members  of  the  faculty 
found  this  ruling  disturbing.  The 
following  December  Dean  Cald- 
well, speaking  for  the  Committee 
on  Examinations  and  Standing, 
wrote  to  President  Lovett  to  rec- 
ommend two  changes  in  policy. 
First,  the  committee  suggested 
that  preference  be  given  to  state 
residents  and  that  only  students 
of  special  promise  be  accepted 
from  elsewhere.  The  committee 
opposed  a  rigid  rule  excluding 
out-of-state  students.  Although 
cognizant  of  the  spirit  of  William 
Marsh  Rice's  original  gift  and  oi 
the  charter  provisions,  the  com- 
mittee also  believed  that  the  ad- 
mission of  a  small  number  of 
non-Texas  residents  would  di- 
rectly benefit  the  other  students 
and  help  the  Rice  Institute  main- 
tain its  standing  as  a  national  in- 


74-77.  Interior  views  of  the  Chemistry  Building,  ca.  192^.  74.  Industrial 
laboratory.  75-  Individual  laboratory. 


The  1920s 


93 


76.  Main  dispensing  room.  77.  Lecture  hall. 


stitution.  Besides,  m  the  preced- 
ing five  years,  the  largest  number 
of  nonresident  students  admit- 
ted in  any  one  year  had  been 
36.  Such  a  small  number  would 
hardly  cause  the  rejection  of  any 
well-prepared  Houston  student. 
Furthermore,  Rice  had  to  draw 
on  a  wide  area  for  two  desirable 
kinds  of  students:  graduate  stu- 
dents and  athletes.  To  maintain 
both  programs  m  the  face  of  com- 
petition with  other  universities 
in  the  state,  the  Institute  needed 
to  admit  applicants  from  out  of 
state.  Second,  the  committee  rec- 
ommended limiting  the  number 
of  transfers  from  other  colleges  to 
75  per  year.  Otherwise,  admitting 
students  from  the  growing  junior 
college  system  might  circumvent 
the  limit  of  400  freshmen.  Stu- 
dents who  had  been  rejected  as 
freshmen  could  reappear  as  trans- 
fers to  the  sophomore  class  and 
thus  increase  enrollment  to  an 
undesirable  level." 

It  appears  that  President  Lovett 
asked  the  committee  to  recon- 
sider its  requests,  because  eleven 
days  after  the  first  letter,  Cald- 
well wrote  again.  The  committee 
now  recommended  that  the  max- 
imum number  of  transfer  stu- 
dents be  only  50,  maintaining 
that  accepting  400  new  admis- 
sions and  50  transfers  would  in 
practice  result  in  about  425  new 
students.  The  committee  did  not 
believe  that  such  numbers  would 
add  substantially  to  costs,  be- 
cause no  significant  changes 
would  be  necessary  to  handle 
such  a  small  increase." 

Evidently  nothing  came  of  ei- 
ther of  these  communications. 


94 


The  1920s 


because  Caldwell  wrote  to  Lovett 
again  in  May  1928  on  the  matter 
of  admissions.  The  committee 
"cheerfully"  accepted  the  trust- 
ees' proposal  to  hmit  admission 
to  400  new  students,  including 
transfers.  It  again  suggested  a 
specific  number  for  transfers,  this 
time  a  maximum  of  30.  Caldwell 
said  the  committee  was  skeptical 
that  limiting  only  the  freshman 
class  would  hold  down  total  en- 
rollment. The  professors  ex- 
pected that  in  the  future  a  larger 
proportion  of  students  would  re- 
main for  the  whole  four-year 
course,  a  likelihood  they  saw  as 
wholly  desirable.  The  committee 
reiterated  their  belief  that  admit- 
ting a  small  number  of  out-of- 
state  students  was  desirable,  be- 
cause this  group  usually  contrib- 
uted far  beyond  its  numbers  to 
the  best  graduate  students  and 
athletes.  Although  no  formal  rec- 
ord exists  on  the  issue,  it  appears 
that  the  board  changed  its  mind 
about  non-Texans;  subsequent 
lists  of  students  show  several 
each  year  from  outside  the  state. ' 

Caldwell's  committee  also 
made  a  financial  suggestion. 
They  pointed  out  that  a  large 
number  of  Rice  students  could 
afford  to  pay  a  "substantial  tui- 
tion fee  to  help  meet  a  partf)f  the 
cost  of  their  training."  The  fac- 
ulty members  thought  that  such 
a  payment,  with  exemptions  and 
scholarships  for  deserving  stu- 
dents, would  provide  for  "a  larger 
appreciation  of  the  educational 
advantages  of  the  Rice  Institute." 
They  realized  that  such  a  charge 
was  impossible  under  the  charter, 
but  they  wanted  nevertheless  to 
record  their  opinion." 


The  Institute's  Financial 
Condition 

As  the  committee's  suggestion 
indicated,  the  Institute's  finan- 
cial situation  was  much  on  the 
minds  of  the  trustees,  admin- 
istration, and  faculty  throughout 
the  1920s.  By  19 19  inflation  had 
hit  faculty  members  hard.  The 
cost  of  living  was  going  up  rap- 
idly, while  salaries  remained  the 
same.  One  professor,  the  physi- 
cist A.  L.  Hughes,  estimated  that 
the  cost  of  living  had  risen  eighty- 
five  percent  since  his  appoint- 
ment in  191 3,  and  his  ten  percent 
raise  in  191 6  had  done  little  to 
alleviate  the  financial  pinch. 
Hughes  was  making  $2,7 so  a 
year  in  19 19.  The  board  raised 
Hughes's  salary  by  S500  for  the 
year  1919-20  and  began  raising 
salaries  of  other  faculty  members 
as  well.  In  1920  Professor  Harold 
Wilson,  the  highest-paid  faculty 
member,  pointed  out  that  univer- 
sities all  over  the  country  were 
raising  salaries;  he  thought  it  rea- 
sonable to  ask  for  an  increase 
also. 

Before  going  to  the  board  with 
more  requests.  President  Lovett 
surveyed  the  major  universities 
to  find  out  how  they  were  com- 
pensating their  faculty  members. 
He  discovered  that  full  professors 
had  made  between  $3,000  and 
S6,ooo  before  the  war,  while  after 
It  they  earned  between  $5,000 
and  88, 000.  Corresponding  in- 
creases were  given  to  those  in  the 
lower  ranks,  with  teachers  at 
some  schools  receiving  almost  a 
one  hundred  percent  jump  in  pay. 
The  Rice  board  followed  the  ac- 
tion of  other  administrations 


and  raised  its  faculty  salaries.  In 
1920-21  professors  at  Rice  re- 
ceived from  $4,500  to  $7,500,  as- 
sistant professors  from  $2,500  to 
$3,750,  and  instructors  from 
$1,500  to  $2,750.  These  raises  in- 
creased the  faculty  salary  budget 
from  about  $1 10,000  in  1918-19 
to  approximately  $156,000  in 
1920-21.  The  total  Institute  bud- 
get expanded  from  $260,000  to 
$336,000,  an  increase  of  almost 
thirty  percent.  From  1919  to 
1 92 1,  however,  net  excess  reve- 
nue declined  from  $208,000  to 
$176,000  per  year." 

In  1923  and  1925  the  Institute 
brought  in  more  than  $725,000 
in  gross  revenues,  but  the  usual 
annual  income  was  closer  to 
$690,000.  The  budget  for  uni- 
versity expenditures  rose  to 
$398,000  in  1924,  $491,000  in 
1926,  and  $518,000  in  1929.  Us- 
ing accounting  techniques  cus- 
tomary in  business,  the  board 
took  a  depreciation  allowance;  as 
expenses  rose,  net  income  even 
after  allowing  for  depreciation 
declined  precipitously.  The  low 
point  for  the  decade  was  $36,000 
in  net  revenues  in  1926.  Rice's 
endowment  increased  from  $12.8 
million  in  1921  to  S14.8  mil- 
lion in  1929,  with  most  of  this 
amount  (about  $10  million!  in- 
vested in  mortgage  and  collateral 
loans  and  in  bonds." 

In  a  note  to  James  Baker  in 
1923,  President  Lovett  men- 
tioned monetary  difficulties.  It 
must  have  hurt  this  man,  who 
yearned  to  build  a  university  of 
recognized  status,  to  say,  "The 
university's  immediate  and  pro- 
spective revenues  are  inadequate 
to  the  realization  of  the  pro- 


The  1920s 


95 


gramme  of  instruction  and  re- 
search on  which  it  has  entered."" 

In  the  spring  of  1924  editorials 
appeared  in  the  Post  discussing 
Rice's  financial  needs.  The  writer 
speculated  that  Rice  did  not  re- 
ceive many  gifts  of  money  be- 
cause of  its  fabled  endowment: 
prospective  donors  thought  that 
the  Institute  was  too  rich  to  need 
help.  He  pointed  out  the  finan- 
cial demands  on  Rice  and  ap- 
plauded its  decision  to  limit 
enrollment.  While  he  did  not 
make  a  straightforward  request 
for  funds,  the  editor  suggested 
that  "it  has  not  been  the  policy  of 
those  responsible  for  the  institu- 
tion to  solicit  or  invite  financial 
assistance  from  outside,  but  it 
probably  could  be  accepted." '^ 

So  serious  was  Rice's  economic 
plight  that  even  the  board's  usual 
reticence  to  discuss  the  Insti- 
tute's money  disappeared  for  a 
while.  At  commencement  that 
lune,  after  the  awarding  of  de- 
grees. Baker  made  the  first  public 
plea  for  donations.  He  disabused 
the  audience  of  the  popular  im- 
pression that  Rice  was  blessed 
with  a  rich  endowment.  Because 
the  institution  spent  only  its  in- 
terest and  not  its  principal,  and 
because  the  size  of  the  student 
body  and  the  cost  of  upkeep  were 
both  increasing,  its  income  was 
insufficient  for  growth.  Baker 
urged  citizens  of  wealth  to  donate 
funds  to  improve  the  Institute's 
financial  position.  In  December 
before  the  Rotary  Club,  Baker 
said  again  that  it  was  impossible 
to  expand  with  the  funds  avail- 
able and  asked  Rotanans  to  "stop 
to  think  a  moment  and  then  be- 


queath a  portion  of  your  money 
to  Rice  Institute."  No  evidence 
remains  of  any  campaign  to  fol- 
low up  Baker's  requests,  however, 
and  the  Institute  struggled  on  as 
before.'" 

Throughout  the  rest  of  the 
1920s,  Houston  newspapers  con- 
tinued to  refer  to  the  Institute's 
need  for  money,  and  a  number  of 
people  developed  schemes  for 
raising  it.  The  year  after  Caldwell 
suggested  that  tuition  be  charged, 
Lovett  wrote  to  Stanford  Univer- 
sity to  ask  how  Stanford  had 
changed  its  charter  to  allow  the 
charging  of  tuition.  Beyond  this 
inquiry,  Lovett  did  not  explore  re- 
vising the  Rice  charter.  It  may 
have  been  wishful  thinking  con- 
sidering Rice's  straits,  but  Lovett 
also  spoke  in  1928  of  establishing 
a  law  department  at  Rice  in  the 
near  future  and  a  medical  school 
later. 

lohn  W.  Slaughter,  who  became 
the  Sharp  Lecturer  of  Civics  and 
Philanthropy,  appealed  inde- 
pendently to  Houstonians  for 
donations  and  also  suggested  to 
Captain  Baker  that  it  might  be 
possible  for  the  city  to  provide 
the  Institute  with  funds  through 
taxation.  That  idea  did  not  seem 
feasible  or  legal  to  Baker;  not, 
that  is,  until  Will  Hogg  appeared. 
Hogg,  son  of  a  former  governor 
and  one  of  the  enterprising  found- 
ers of  The  Texas  Company,  was 
active  in  supporting  higher  learn- 
ing throughout  the  state.  He  pre- 
sented a  plan  for  raising  funds 
from  the  city,  "in  view  of  the 
benefits  conferred  by  the  Insti- 
tute upon  the  City  of  Houston." 
The  proposal  was  brought  before 


the  board  in  May  and  lune  of 
1929  but  got  lost  during  the  de- 
pression that  followed." 


Rice  Faculty  in  the  1920s 

A  large  part  of  the  rise  in  operat- 
ing expenses  was  due  to  growth 
in  the  faculty  to  coincide  with 
expansion  of  the  student  body.  In 
1920  the  faculty  numbered  ap- 
proximately forty;  in  1924  it  was 
up  to  fifty,  and  by  1927  there 
were  seventy  professors,  assistant 
professors,  instructors,  and  lec- 
turers. Some  of  the  most  endur- 
ing and  endurable  teachers  joined 
the  Institute  after  the  war  and  in 
the  1920s.  In  history  there  was 
Floyd  S.  Lear,  an  authority  on  Ro- 
man and  Barbarian  law;  in  biol- 
ogy, Edgar  Altenburg  and  Asa  C. 
Chandler;  in  English,  eighteenth- 
century  scholar  Alan  D.  McKil- 
lop,  George  G.  Williams  (nur- 
turer  of  Rice's  creative  writers  for 
two  generations),  George  Whit- 
ing, and  loseph  Gallegly.  The 
French  department  welcomed 
Marcel  Moraud,  Andre  Bourgeois, 
and  Fred  Shelton,  while  Max 
Freund  joined  German  and  Lester 
Ford  went  to  mathematics.  Ar- 
thur ].  Hartsook  taught  chemical 
engineering  and  later  founded  the 
department;  Henry  Nicholas 
taught  chemistry;  and  Robert 
Crookston  came  to  teach  me- 
chanical engineering.  Frank  A. 
Pattie,  [r.,  soon  to  be  well  known 
for  his  "hypnotic"  lectures,  es- 
tablished the  Department  of 
Psychology. 

There  were  also  some  notable 


96 


The  u;20S 


departures.  After  a  short  stay  at 
Rice,  Asa  Chandler  went  to  India 
to  become  head  of  the  Depart- 
ment of  Hehnmthok)gy  at  the 
School  of  Tropical  Medicine  in 
Calcutta.  German  professor  Lind- 
sey  Blayney  moved  to  Denton, 
Texas,  to  become  president  of  the 
College  of  Industrial  Arts  (later 
Texas  Women's  University).  Ar- 
chitect lohn  Clark  Tidden  re- 
signed after  eleven  years;  the 
math  department  lost  Percy  Dan- 
iell,  and  French  lost  Albert  Gue- 
rard.  The  heaviest  blow  came  in 
1924,  when  Harold  A.  Wilson, 
the  professor  of  the  physics  de- 
partment, decided  to  take  the 
Kelvin  Chair  of  Physics  at  Glas- 
gow University.  Lovett  tried  hard 
to  keep  Wilson,  and  he  made  an 
arrangement  with  William  S. 
Parish,  president  of  the  Hum- 
ble Oil  and  Refining  Company, 
whereby  Wilson  would  do  con- 
sulting work  with  Humble  to  add 
to  his  salary.  In  the  end,  however, 
the  Kelvin  Chair  was  too  impor- 
tant for  Wilson  to  turn  down.  He 
had  already  agreed  to  go  before 
the  Humble  plan  was  approved. 
At  that  news  the  general  atmo- 
sphere in  the  physics  department 
became  one  of  gloom.'" 

There  were  also  some  notable 
returns.  Less  than  eight  months 
after  Wilson  left,  Lovett  had  oc- 
casion to  visit  the  Wilsons  in 
Glasgow  and  found  that  they 
were  not  particularly  happy 
there.  "The  honor  and  glory  here 
may  be  all  right,"  Wilson  wrote 
to  the  president  later,  "but  the 
salary  is  not  enough  for  comfort." 
He  would  prefer  to  be  back  at 
Rice  "with  its  better  laboratory.  I 
do  not  like  to  think  of  the  Rice 


Physics  Building  without  a  first 
class  physicist  to  keep  up  the  tra- 
ditions we  established  there." 
Lovett  moved  quickly  and  by 
the  end  of  the  next  month  had 
worked  out  an  arrangement  for 
salary,  the  Humble  consulting 
position,  and  a  pension.  The  next 
fall  Wilson  was  back  in  the  labo- 
ratory he  had  built,  there  to  re- 
main. To  make  matters  even 
better,  Asa  Chandler  returned 
from  India  in  1926,  at  which  the 
overworked  biology  department 
must  have  rejoiced."' 

Wilson  returned  to  a  combined 
salary  of  $12,000  ($8,000  from 
Rice,  $4,000  from  Humble  Oil), 
and  Chandler  to  a  professorship 
(he  had  been  an  assistant  pro- 
fessor when  he  left)  and  $6,000. 
Faculty  salaries  rose  for  other  in- 
dividual faculty  members  through 
the  1920s,  and  that  added  to  the 
cost  of  running  the  university,  as 
did  the  growth  in  faculty  num- 
bers. But  automatic  raises  were 
not  built  into  the  system.  The 
more  a  man  was  wanted  by  an- 
other university,  the  better  his 
chances  were  for  an  increase  in 
salary  at  Rice.  It  appears  that 
those  who  did  not  ask  did  not  re- 
ceive increases.  When  given,  sal- 
ary raises  could  be  rather  spec- 
tacular. In  1926  when  Harvard 
approached  G.  C.  Evans,  the 
board  approved  a  salary  of  $9,000 
if  he  would  remain  at  Rice.  (He 
had  been  making  $6,000.) 
Radoslav  Tsanoff's  offer  from  the 
University  of  Southern  California 
brought  him  a  salary  increase  at 
Rice,  from  $5,250  to  $7,500.  In 
the  case  of  Evans's  raise,  the 
board  was  careful  to  place  in  its 
minutes  the  statement,  "it  being 


understood  that  in  taking  this  ac- 
tion, the  amount  of  increase  au- 
thorized shall,  if  possible,  not  be 
construed  as  a  precedent  for  sim- 
ilarly increasing  the  compensa- 
tion of  other  professors  at  the 
Institute,  with  the  idea,  however, 
that  the  salaries  of  such  other 
professors  shall  be  increased  from 
time  to  time  as  may  be  consid- 
ered advisable."'" 

The  lack  of  a  definite  policy 
with  regard  to  promotion  and 
raises,  plus  lack  of  money  for  ex- 
pansion, led  to  confusion  for  de- 
partment heads  trying  to  work 
out  a  program  for  their  depart- 
ments. Harry  Weiser  of  chemis- 
try remarked  to  Lovett  in  1927 
that  it  was  difficult  to  plan  very 
far  ahead  when  he  did  not  know 
if  future  policy  would  be  expan- 
sion or  retrenchment.  At  the 
same  time,  it  seemed  impossible 
that  the  department  would  stand 
still  with  a  group  of  promising 
men.  Said  Weiser,  "I  cannot  urge 
the  appointment  of  another  man, 
however  much  I  feel  the  need  of 
him,  if  I  know  ahead  of  time  that 
such  an  addition  is  likely  to  in- 
terfere with  the  advancement  or 
salary  of  the  present  members  of 
the  staff."" 

Life  for  the  Rice  faculty  in  gen- 
eral remained  as  it  had  been  dur- 
ing the  first  years  of  the  school. 
There  were  always  classes  to 
teach,  students  to  help,  research 
and  writing  to  do,  and  public  lec- 
tures to  give — more  than  enough 
to  keep  busy.  Indeed,  Edgar  Al- 
tenburg  complained  in  August 
1924  that  his  teaching  and  ad- 
ministrative duties  left  him  little 
time  for  intensive  research  and 
no  time  for  public  lectures.  Per- 


The  1920s 


97 


78.  The  visit  of  the  official  French  Mission,  December  9,  1918.  Left  to  right;  M.  Charles  Koechlin  (a  composer  and 
music  critic),  Mme  M.  L.  Cazamian,  Mrs.  Edgar  O.  Lovett,  Professor  L.  Cazamian,  and  President  Lovett. 


98 


The  lyios 


79.  Guests  arriving  for  "Pershing  Day."  the  visit  of  General  John  /.  Pershing  to  the  Rice  Institute.  February  5.  1920. 


haps  Ahenburg  was  overworked; 
the  Thresher  reported  that  he  had 
a  nervous  breakdown  the  foUow- 
ing  spring." 

On  the  matter  of  pubhc  lec- 
tures, the  newspapers  continued 
to  take  note  of  Rice  speakers,  hut 
somewhat  more  benignly  than 
before.  A  talk  by  physicist  Wil- 
son on  the  conflict  between  sci- 
ence and  religion  elicited  an 
editorial  saying  that  "the  intel- 
lectual leadership  which  the  Rice 
men  offer,  for  Houston  in  partic- 
ular, is  illustrated  once  again." 
After  one  of  Tsanoff 's  lectures  on 


democracy,  the  Chronicle  noted 
that  members  of  the  Rice  faculty 
were  willing  to  serve  the  com- 
munity and  that  Houston  should 
take  more  advantage  of  what 
they  had  to  give.  "Incidentally," 
the  article  continued,  "why  not 
more  Rice  men  on  our  public 
boards'  Why  not,  as  the  first  Rice 
'man'  to  be  named  by  Mayor 
Monteith,  Miss  Alice  Dean,  li- 
brarian of  Rice,  to  be  a  member 
of  the  Houston  Library  Board'  A 
better  selection  could  not  be 
made."" 


Visiting  Lecturers 

In  addition  to  lectures  by  Rice 
faculty  members,  the  Institute 
community  benefited  from  a  pro- 
cession of  visiting  lecturers  from 
other  institutions.  The  first,  in 
19 1 9,  were  the  British  educa- 
tional mission  and  the  French 
mission  to  universities  of  the 
United  States.  General  lohn  ). 
Pershing  came  in  February  1920 
for  a  tour  of  the  Institute,-  he 
planted  a  pecan  tree  in  front  of 
the  Administration  Building.  In 
April  of  that  year,  former  Presi- 


The  1920s 


99 


80.  General  Pershing  autographing  a  parchment  commemorating  his  visit. 
President  Lovett  is  in  the  background. 


dent  William  Howard  Taft  in- 
augurated the  newly  endowed 
Godwin  Lectureship  on  Public 
Affairs.  The  second  Godwin  lec- 
turer was  Sir  Auckland  Geddes, 
British  ambassador  to  the  United 
States,  who  in  1921  himself  en- 
dowed a  prize  in  writing  in  honor 
of  his  wife.  (The  Lady  Geddes 
Prize  is  still  a  coveted  honor 
among  undergraduates.)  Other 
visitors  included  Belgian  poet 
and  playwright  Maurice  Mae- 
terlinck; Sir  Arthur  Shipley,  bi- 
ologist and  vice-chancellor  of 
Cambridge  University;  Jacques 
Hadamard  of  the  Department  of 
Mathematics  of  the  French  Insti- 
tute, College  de  France,  and  Ecole 
Polytechniquc;  astronomer  Henry 
N.  Russell  of  Princeton;  educator 
and  philosopher  John  Dewey;  his- 
torian William  E.  Dodd  of  the 
University  of  Michigan;  and 
E.  C.  C.  Baly,  Grant  Professor  of  In- 
organic Chemistry  at  the  Univer- 
sity of  Liverpool.  Old  Rice  friends 
such  as  Julian  Huxley  and  Edwin 
Grant  Conklin  returned  to  lec- 
ture, as  did  Louis  Cazamian,  a 
professor  of  English  literature  at 
the  University  of  Paris,  and 
Szolem  Mandelbrojt,  the  Paris 
mathematician.  Sir  Henry  Jones, 
professor  of  moral  philosophy  at 
the  University  of  Glasgow,  inau- 
gurated the  Sharp  Lectureship  in 
Civics  and  Philanthropy.  An 
anonymously  donated  music  lec- 
tureship brought  the  respected 
American  composer  John  Powell 
to  campus  to  inaugurate  the  se- 
ries in  1923,  and  in  1928  the  il- 
lustrious Maurice  Ravel  visited 
Rice.  There  was  no  lack  of  intel- 
lectual stimulus  from  the 
outside. 


[     lOO 


The  1920s 


These  personages  received  vari- 
ous honoraria  for  their  lectures, 
and  written  versions  of  their  lec- 
tures often  were  pubUshed  in  the 
Rice  Institute  Pamphlet;  but  the 
Institute  did  not  grant  honorary 
degrees  to  the  speakers.  In  1920 
Lovett  raised  with  the  faculty  the 
question  of  granting  such  de- 
grees. However,  there  was  no 
general  sentiment  in  favor  of  do- 
ing so  then,  and  evidently  none 
developed  thereafter.  Rice  still 
awards  no  honorary  degrees,  and 
avoiding  this  sort  of  recognition 
has  become  a  strong  tradition.'" 

During  this  decade  two  other 
events  affected  the  faculty  of  the 
Institute.  In  1920  several  profes- 
sors were  instrumental  in  form- 
ing the  Houston  Philosophical 
Society,  a  town-and-gown  group 
whose  purpose  was  "to  stimulate 
interest  in  modern  developments 
in  science  and  philosophy."  Fac- 
ulty families  led  active  social 
lives  together,  and  during  the 
twenties  a  place  was  built  on 
campus  for  faculty  gatherings  of 
all  kinds.  George  S.  Cohen,  a 
Houston  businessman  and  owner 
of  Foley's  department  store,  gave 
$125,000  to  the  Institute  for  a 
faculty  club  in  honor  of  his  par- 
ents, Robert  I.  and  Agnes  Cohen. 
The  younger  Cohen  had  become 
interested  in  Rice  through  his 
support  of  Rice  athletics  and 
through  his  assistance  to  many 
students  who  desired  careers  in 
business  and  professional  life. 
William  Ward  Watkin  designed 
the  building,  and  Cohen  House 
opened  officially  at  homecoming 
in  November  1927.'" 


81.  Sir  Henry  tones  of  Glasgow,  a  member  of  the  British  Educational  Mission 
to  the  United  States,  inaugurating  the  Sharp  Lectureship  in  Civics  and 
Philanthropy,  November  1918. 


The  1920s 


82.  Ceremony  laying  the  cornerstone 
for  Cohen  House  (the  faculty  club), 
July  26.  1927.  Left  to  right:  William 
Ward  Watkin,  Robert  I.  Cohen.  Mrs. 
George  S.  Cohen,  Mrs.  Robert  I. 
Cohen,  Benjamin  Botts  Rice, 
President  Lovett,  E.  A.  Peden.  Rabbi 
Henry  Cohen,  Thomas  T.  Hopper 
(contractorl. 


83.  William  Ward  Watkm's 
rendering  of  the  south  elevation  of 
the  Robert  and  Agnes  Cohen  House. 


I'Ht        RObtkT        AND        ACNLS        COHEN 


HOUSE- 


mmi 


The  1920s 


Curriculum 

One  of  the  continuing  concerns 
of  the  faculty  was  the  curricu- 
lum. Except  for  the  normal  tin- 
kering with  the  curriculum — 
adding  new  courses  and  dropping 
old  ones,  tightening  rules  for 
scholastic  probation,  forced  with- 
drawal, readmission,  the  system 
of  grading — the  faculty  made  few 
changes  in  the  overall  course  of 
study.  Professors  continued  to 
emphasize  that  the  work  was  de- 
signed for  a  four-year  course, 
built  up  year  by  year,  and  their 
primary  worry  was  that  some 
freshmen  were  unable  to  do  col- 
lege-level work.  In  1922  a  new 
course  called  English  Zero  was 
adopted  for  those  with  poor  lan- 
guage skills.  Freshmen  were  to 
take  this  course  on  recommenda- 
tion of  the  English  department, 
and  upperclassmen  on  recom- 
mendation of  two  of  their  pro- 
fessors. English  Zero  carried  no 
credit  but  had  to  be  passed,  and  it 
was  taught  by  regular  members 
of  the  English  department. 

In  1925  the  faculty  changed  the 
school  calendar.  They  decided 
that  freshmen  needed  a  longer 
adjustment  period  to  college 
work  before  taking  final  exam- 
inations, so  they  abolished  the 
old  three-term  system.  "Prelimi- 
nary examinations"  for  freshmen 
and  for  students  on  probation  re- 
placed the  first  term  examina- 
tions in  December;  examinations 
similar  to  term  exams  were  sched- 
uled for  February;  spring  exam- 
inations were  eliminated;  and 
final  exams  were  placed  at  the 
end  of  the  school  year.  There  was 
no  reference  to  any  sort  of  semes- 


ter system;  the  faculty  wished  to 
reemphasize  that  courses  were 
designed  to  last  a  full  year.  It  was 
impossible  to  flunk  out  on  the 
basis  of  the  December  prelimi- 
nary examinations.  February 
tests  were  to  cover  the  year's 
work  to  that  point  for  all  stu- 
dents, but  the  final  examinations 
covered  only  the  work  from  Feb- 
ruary to  May  for  freshmen  and 
sophomores;  juniors  and  seniors 
were  to  be  tested  over  the  entire 
year's  work."" 

Students  continued  to  dread 
Math  100,  which  was  described 
in  the  catalog  as  "elementary 
analysis  of  the  elementary  func- 
tions, algebraic,  trigonometric 
and  exponential;  their  differentia- 
tion and  integration."  In  practice. 
Math  100  concentrated  on  the 
calculus,  since  professors  re- 
viewed algebra  and  trigonometry 
only  in  the  first  three  or  four 
class  periods.  One  probable  cause 
of  Math  100  phobia  was  that  stu- 
dents had  usually  taken  no  math 
courses  during  their  last  year  or 
two  of  high  school  and  were 
rusty  in  mathematical  thinking 
by  the  time  they  got  to  college. 
An  insert  in  the  catalog  advised 
high  school  students  to  take 
mathematics  during  their  senior 
year  but  did  little  to  help  the 
situation. 

By  1926  the  mathematics  de- 
partment was  determined  to  help 
prevent  failures.  The  math  pro- 
fessors thought  that  students 
who  were  failing  were  capable  of 
doing  the  work  but  lost  courage 
when  they  encountered  some  dif- 
ficulty— even  a  trivial  one.  Per- 
haps personal  instruction  would 
restore  their  confidence  and  carry 


them  thrt)ugh.  The  professors  in- 
tended not  to  diminish  the  stu- 
dents' sense  of  responsibility  but 
to  develop  initiative.  Their  plan 
called  for  changes  in  the  basic 
Math  100  course,  which  was  to 
meet  for  two-hour  periods  three 
times  a  week.  Much  of  the  work 
was  to  be  done  in  class  instead  of 
as  homework,  so  that  each  stu- 
dent could  obtain  individual  as- 
sistance and  supervision.  Those 
who  were  still  having  trouble  at 
the  end  of  the  first  term  would  be 
placed  in  a  new  course  called 
Math  Zero.  Like  English  Zero,  it 
carried  no  credit  but  had  to  be 
passed  before  the  student  could 
reregister  in  Math  100,  which 
was  still  required  for  graduation. 
Under  this  plan.  Math  100  was 
redefined  as  elementary  analysis 
in  trigonometry,  analytic  geome- 
try, and  introduction  to  calculus; 
but  as  before  it  remained  mostly 
calculus.  The  results  of  the  ex- 
periment were  so  successful  that 
the  next  year  the  two-hour- 
period,  three-times-a-week  sched- 
ule was  extended  to  Math  200 
and  210. '" 


A  Change  in  Athletics 

Perhaps  the  largest  addition  to 
the  curriculum  in  the  1920s 
came  in  1929  with  the  creation  of 
the  Department  of  Physical  Edu- 
cation. When  the  Field  House 
was  completed  in  1921,  classes  in 
physical  training  began  for  fresh- 
man men  as  a  compulsory  one- 
hour-a-week  class.  Intramural 
games  were  also  established  for 
upperclassmen.  (The  women  had 


The  1920s 


103 


to  fend  for  themselves  at  the  Rice 
tennis  courts  or  the  YWCA.)  Al- 
though students  had  proposed 
more  supervised  athletics  and  or- 
ganized intramural  sports,  they 
appear  to  have  sparked  little  in- 
terest in  a  separate  department  of 
physical  education,  much  less  a 
degree  in  the  subject.  The  im- 
petus for  that  came  from  Rice's 
fortunes — or  misfortunes — on  in- 
tercollegiate sports  fields.'" 

Although  there  were  a  few  in- 
dividual standouts  in  Southwest 
Conference  play  from  1920  to 
1923 — players  like  Marion  Lind- 
sey,  Eddie  Dyer,  Bert  Hinckley, 
Edwin  De  Prato,  and  lohn  Under- 
wood— the  Institute's  teams  did 
not  distinguish  themselves  dur- 
ing that  time.  Philip  H.  Arbuck- 
le's  football  team  went  from  a 
high  of  second  place  in  the  con- 
ference in  1919  to  fourth  in  1920 
and  sixth  in  1921.  In  1922  Ar- 
buckle  retained  his  position  as 
director  of  athletics  but  turned 
over  the  coaching  position  to 
Howard  F.  Yerges,  who  had  been 
an  instructor  in  engineering 
drawing.  The  Owls  finished  sev- 
enth in  1922  and  remained  in 
that  position  in  1923  when  Ar- 
buckle  resumed  coaching.  The 
basketball  team,  under  a  different 
coach  every  year  (Leslie  Mann  in 
1920,  Pete  Cawthon  in  1921, 
Yerges  in  1922,  and  Arbuckle  in 
1923),  did  somewhat  better,  fin- 
ishing fourth,  fourth,  sixth,  and 
third  in  those  years.  Arbuckle  re- 
signed in  December  1923.  At  that 
point  the  Committee  on  Outdoor 
Sports  under  the  chairmanship 
of  William  Ward  Watkin  began 
to  look  for  a  new  football  coach 
and  director  of  athletics.  The 


84.  Football  game,  Rice  vs.  University  of  Arkansas  (Thanksgiving  Reunion), 
Rice  Stadium,  November  27,  1919. 


85.  Pep  Parade  preceding  football  game  between  Rice  and  Tulane,  1921. 


I04 


The  1920s 


Thresher  reported  that  the  com- 
mittee wanted  a  man  with  "con- 
siderable successful  experience" 
to  whom  they  could  give  vir- 
tually a  free  rein  for  two  or  three 
years. =" 

It  did  not  take  long  for  Watkin 
to  find  a  candidate,  lohn  W.  Heis- 
man  was  looking  for  a  new  coach- 
ing job.  Already  famous,  Heis- 
man  had  coached  championship 
football  teams  at  Clemson,  Au- 
burn, and  most  notably  the  Geor- 
gia Institute  of  Technology.  From 
there  he  had  gone  to  Watkin's 
alma  mater,  the  University  of 
Pennsylvania;  in  1924  he  was  at 
Washington  and  Jefferson  College 
m  Pennsylvania.  Heisman  was  fa- 
mous for  his  winning  teams  and 
also  for  inventing  the  forward 
pass,  the  hidden-ball  play,  the 
center  snap,  and  the  word  "hike" 
for  beginning  a  play.  During  a 
long  talk  with  Watkin  in  Febru- 
ary 1924  the  coach  announced 
his  terms.  Fie  wanted  to  be  m 
residence  at  Rice  only  for  spring 
training  and  the  football  season, 
so  that  he  could  tend  to  his  sport- 
ing goods  firm  in  New  York  in 
the  off-seasons;  in  spite  of  his  ab- 
sence, he  would  take  general  re- 
sponsibility for  all  assistant 
coaches  and  teams  as  athletic  di- 
rector. He  wanted  a  salary  of 
$9,000  and  a  five-year  contract  to 
go  with  the  position.  Watkin 
thought  that  Fieisman  would 
soon  withdraw  from  his  New 
York  business  and  become  an  "all 
year  man"  at  Rice.  In  recom- 
mending his  appointment,  Wat- 
kin also  pointed  out  that  Fieis- 
man  was  willing  to  take  Si, 000 
less  than  his  present  salary  at 
Washington  and  Jefferson,  which 


86.  John  W.  Heisman,  athletic 
director  of  the  Rice  Institute  from 
1924  to  191-1. 


he  wanted  to  leave  because  his 
"desire  for  discipline"  was  not 
being  supported  by  the  school. 

Although  they  were  somewhat 
"embarrassed"  by  the  contract 
feature  of  Fieisman's  terms  (the 
first  contract  offered  a  coach  by 
the  Institute)  and  by  Fieisman's 
age  (he  was  fifty-five  but  looked 
forty-eight,  according  to  Watkin), 
the  trustees  agreed  to  the  coach's 
terms  and  desired  salary.  Fie  was 
to  be  present  at  the  Institute 
from  September  i  through  De- 
cember 10  and  from  the  begin- 
ning of  March  to  approximately 
April  1 5  each  year.  In  April  of  his 
first  year  at  the  Institute,  Fieis- 
man  proposed  giving  up  all  other 
work  entirely  and  devoting  him- 
self solely  to  Rice  athletics  for 


an  additional  compensation  of 
S2,soo  per  year,  but  the  board 
turned  him  down.  The  trustees 
did  authorize  Captain  Baker  to 
offer  Fieisman  additional  money 
to  stay  in  Fiouston  until  after 
commencement  exercises;  it  ap- 
pears, however,  that  the  arrange- 
ment fell  through,  because  Fieis- 
man's salary  never  changed.  Even 
at  the  part-time  rate,  the  coach 
was  making  more  than  any  of  the 
professors.  (Fiarold  Wilson's  sal- 
ary, the  highest  on  campus,  was 
$7,soo  in  1924  before  he  went  to 
Scotland.)'' 

Coach  Fieisman  hit  Rice  like  a 
whirlwind  in  the  spring  of  1924. 
A  charming  man  and  a  dynamic 
speaker  (he  had  been  a  Shake- 
spearean actor  on  the  chautauqua 
circuit),  he  could  hold  an  audi- 
ence in  the  palm  of  his  hand;  he 
excelled  at  arousing  enthusiasm 
for  Rice  sports.  In  addition  to 
speaking,  he  wrote  a  Thresher 
column  in  the  form  of  open 
letters  to  the  students,  telling 
them  to  publicize  their  school 
to  prospective  athletes  and  other 
students.  His  letters  were  pep 
talks  full  of  words  in  capital  let- 
ters: EVERYBODY  was  to  SELL 
others  on  RICE  and  be  a  Rice 
BOOSTER.^^ 

Back  east  during  the  summer 
of  1924,  Heisman  became  em- 
broiled in  a  situation  that  almost 
caused  him  trouble  with  the  Na- 
tional Collegiate  Athletic  Associ- 
ation. He  went  to  see  a  reporter 
for  a  New  Jersey  newspaper,  and 
the  story  that  followed  left  the 
impression  that  Heisman  was 
"proselyting"  among  prospective 
students  of  New  Jersey  colleges. 
At  that  time  the  question  of  re- 


The  1920s 


105 


cruitmg — how  to  do  it,  if  it 
should  be  done  at  all,  and  if  so, 
by  whom — was  very  much  un- 
settled. To  President  Alex  C. 
Humphreys  of  the  Stevens  In- 
stitute of  Technology,  Heisman 
was  poaching.  Humphreys  com- 
plained to  the  president  of  the 
NCAA,  General  Palmer  E.  Pierce, 
who  wrote  to  Watkin  and  to 
Heisman.  Watkin,  in  turn,  wrote 
to  Heisman  asking  for  an  expla- 
nation. He  told  the  coach  to  clear 
up  the  situation  with  Pierce  and 
Humphreys,  remarking  that  he 
personally  thought  it  would  be  "a 
great  mistake"  under  the  circum- 
stances to  bring  any  athletes 
from  the  Northeast  to  Rice.  No 
matter  how  properly  or  honestly 
they  should  come,  criticism 
would  still  follow. 

Heisman  saw  Humphreys. 
Humphreys  opposed  athletic  re- 
cruiting of  any  sort,  so  the  con- 
versation between  the  two  men 
began  with  a  direct  conflict. 
They  managed  to  settle  the  mat- 
ter by  agreeing  to  disagree,  but 
Heisman  did  stop  his  recruiting 
activities  in  New  lersey. 

The  coach  found  Professor 
Watkin  philosophically  close  to 
Humphreys.  When  he  wrote  to 
Watkin  to  explain  the  entire  inci- 
dent, the  coach  asked  what  Wat- 
kin had  meant  by  saying  that 
Heisman  had  made  "a  great  mis- 
take." Was  the  chairman  of  the 
Committee  on  Outdoor  Sports 
speaking  of  a  matter  of  principle 
or  of  university  policy?  Heisman 
thought  it  was  proper  in  principle 
to  bring  boys  down  from  the 
East,  but  what  was  the  policy? 
What  was  the  harm? 

Watkin  very  much  wanted  to 


keep  amateurism  m  athletics  and 
not  turn  Rice's  teams  into  semi- 
professional  ones.  His  ideas  were 
probably  not  new  to  Heisman. 
Watkin  thought  that  control  of 
athletics  should  be  in  the  hands 
of  the  faculty,  without  joint. com- 
mittees of  alumni,  undergradu- 
ates, and  faculty  such  as  some 
other  schools  had.  He  believed 
that  athletic  expenditures  should 
be  held  to  a  minimum;  there 
should  be  no  extravagance,  waste- 
ful traveling,  or  "undesirable  de- 
viation" from  a  student's  normal 
activities  when  he  participated 
on  a  team.  Scouting  and  recruit- 
ing were  unadvisable,  as  were  the 
scholarships  for  athletics;  and 
student  athletes  should  not  be 
coddled  with  special  courses  or 
lenient  grades.  Watkin  also  be- 
lieved that  coaches  should  be 
members  of  the  faculty  and  hold 
office  for  as  long  as  possible.  He 
knew  that  a  football  coach's  sal- 
ary was  out  of  proportion  with  a 
professor's,  but  he  expected  the 
operation  of  the  free  market  to 
bring  those  salaries  down  within 
a  few  years." 

Despite  a  summer  of  argument 
and  a  committee  chairman  with 
whom  he  did  not  completely 
agree,  Heisman  got  off  to  a  good 
start  in  his  first  season.  The 
Owls  won  four  and  lost  four  foot- 
ball games,  their  victories  includ- 
ing a  defeat  of  the  University  of 
Texas  by  a  score  of  19  —  6,  the 
first  victory  over  Texas  since 
1917  and  only  the  second  in  Rice 
history.  The  team  finished  the 
season  tied  with  AckM  for  third 
place  in  the  Southwest  Con- 
ference. Part  of  the  credit  seems 
to  be  due  to  the  consistent  play- 


ing of  one  of  the  two  easterners 
whom  Heisman  had  managed  to 
lure  to  the  Southwest,  a  big  full- 
back named  E.  W.  Herting,  Jr. 

Many  faculty  members  be- 
lieved with  Watkin  that  athletes 
were,  after  all,  students  and  en- 
titled to  no  special  academic 
treatment.  But  by  the  spring  of 
1925  it  had  become  clear  to  the 
coach  that  Rice  athletes  had  to 
have  some  help  with  their  stud- 
ies. Those  who  lived  in  the  dor- 
mitories seemed  to  be  the  most 
prone  to  difficulties.  The  Thresher 
reported  that  of  fifty-two  athletes 
of  "recognized  worth"  who  lived 
on  campus,  twenty-three  had 
either  flunked  out  or  gone  on 
probation  in  the  two  preceding 
terms.  Only  five  of  the  twenty- 
six  who  lived  at  home  or  else- 
where in  Houston  had  failed. 
Heisman's  remedy  was  to  create 
an  athletic  dorm.  The  athletes 
took  over  part  of  East  Hall  and 
buckled  down  to  study.  There 
were  rules — no  liquor,  study 
hours  with  confinement  to  rooms, 
no  visiting  for  freshmen  or  those 
on  probation  during  those  hours — 
and  student  proctor-tutors  to  en- 
force them.  The  regimentation 
worked  fairly  well,  and  the  ath- 
letes' grades  rose;  but  the  athletic 
dorm  did  not  eliminate  academic 
failures.  The  next  fall  Heisman 
exhorted  women  students  to  en- 
courage Rice  athletes  to  study 
and  play  well,  and  not  to  tempt 
them  to  stay  out  late  and  break 
his  rules. '^ 

In  1926  the  Athletic  Depart- 
ment hired  Gaylord  Johnson  '21, 
who  also  had  a  Ph.D.  in  chemis- 
try from  Rice,  to  fill  the  newly 
created  post  of  business  manager 


io6 


The  1920s 


tor  athletics.  He  held  that  posi- 
tion until  1940. 

More  athletes  might  have  been 
passing  their  courses  as  a  result 
of  the  new  dormitory  arrange- 
ments, but  the  1925  and  1926 
football  seasons  were  not  im- 
provements over  the  past.  In 
1925  the  Owls  won  four,  lost 
four,  and  tied  one,  thus  ending  up 
in  seventh  place  in  the  confer- 
ence with  only  one  conference 
win.  In  1926,  although  the  full 
season  record  was  the  same  as  in 
1925,  they  lost  all  four  confer- 
ence games  and  finished  m  the 
cellar.  Heisman  came  m  for 
much  criticism;  the  Thresher 
asked,  "What  is  wrong  with  Rice 
and  her  athletics?"  The  next  year 
was  even  more  dismal.  Rice 
won  two,  lost  six,  and  tied  one, 
beating  only  Sam  Houston  and 
Baylor.'" 

Before  the  last  game,  which 
happened  to  be  the  contest  with 
Baylor,  Heisman  was  ready  to  re- 
sign. He  had  suffered  enough  crit- 
icism; he  presented  his  terms  to 
the  board  on  November  21,  1927. 
On  December  i  the  trustees  ac- 
cepted his  proposal  for  resigna- 
tion, and  on  December  i  Heis- 
man resigned,  effective  at  once. 
The  board  canceled  his  contract 
and  paid  the  rest  of  his  salary  for 
that  year  and  a  portion  of  the 
next.  When  asked  why  he  re- 
signed, Heisman  would  only  say, 
"I  will  not  discuss  the  reasons."' 
No  one  else  would  be  formally 
named  director  of  athletics  until 

1933- 

For  the  rest  of  the  decade,  the 
Owl  football  team  did  little  bet- 
ter under  coaches  Claude  Roth- 

geb  in  1928  or  Jack  Meagher  in 


1929  and  19^0,  although  the 
team  did  beat  arch-rival  Texas  in 

1930  and  again  in  193 1.  As  track 
coach,  however,  Rothgeb  had  rea- 
son to  rejoice.  The  Institute  had 
several  conference  track  winners 
and  record  holders  between  1924 
and  1927 — Fred  Stancliff,  Wil- 
liam Smiley,  and  Nelson  Greer — 
and  the  1928  track  team  won  the 
conference  championship.  Em- 
mett  Brunson  (who  was  to  be 
Rice's  head  track  coach  from 
1934  to  1970),  Claude  Bracey  Ben 
Chitwood,  and  Walter  Boone  were 
the  standouts.  The  golf  team  also 
did  well,  winning  the  conference 
title  in  1929  and  1930  with  let- 
termen  Joe  Greenwood,  Forrest 
Lee  Andrews,  Reuben  Albaugh, 
Carl  Illig,  Dan  Smith,  Jr.,  and 
Tommy  Blake. 

What  to  do  with  the  athletic 
program  and  how  to  keep  student 
athletes  scholastically  eligible  be- 
came pressing  problems  after 
Heisman's  resignation.  Before 
William  Ward  Watkin  resigned 
his  chairmanship  of  the  Commit- 
tee on  Outdoor  Sports  in  January 
1928,  he  made  three  suggestions. 
The  first  involved  aiding  Hous- 
ton coaches  to  create  a  supply  of 
good  athletes,  and  the  second  was 
that  alumni  should  encourage 
student  athletes  in  other  cities  to 
consider  attending  Rice.  His 
third  suggestion  was  more  inno- 
vative. To  increase  the  number  of 
freshman  football  recruits  and  to 
ensure  their  scholastic  survival, 
Watkin  proposed  establishing  a 
first-class  preparatory  school  for 
scholastic  and  athletic  training. 
Such  a  school  could  "in  some 
manner"  be  directed  in  its  educa- 
tional and  athletic  policy  by  the 


Institute  and  could  produce  a 
larger  number  of  qualified  ath- 
letes for  the  Rice  athletic  pro- 
gram. Watkin  did  not  spell  out 
any  details  for  such  a  school,  but 
he  clearly  thought  that  it  was  the 
only  way  to  improve  the  athletes' 
scholastic  performance,  maintain 
a  place  in  the  Southwest  Con- 
ference, and  sustain  the  idea  of 
amateurism  in  collegiate  sports.'' 

The  administration,  trustees, 
and  faculty  decided  on  another 
solution.  It  IS  unclear  exactly 
when  the  proposal  was  first  made 
and  who  made  it,  but  by  Decem- 
ber 1928  a  joint  report  of  the 
Committee  on  Honors  Courses 
and  Advanced  Degrees,  the  Com- 
mittee on  Examinations  and 
Standing,  and  the  faculty  mem- 
bers of  the  Committee  on  Out- 
door Sports  was  presented  to  the 
entire  faculty  for  consideration. 
It  called  for  the  establishment 
of  a  course  in  physical  educa- 
tion and  a  Department  of  Physi- 
cal Education. 

Those  in  favor  argued  thus: 
although  athletics  in  college 
should  serve  the  purpose  of  giv- 
ing athletic  enjoyment  and  devel- 
opment to  a  maxmium  number 
of  undergraduates,  we  have  fallen 
far  short  of  realizing  that  high 
purpose.  We  may  deplore  the  atti- 
tude of  many  serious  people  who 
consider  the  victory  or  defeat  of  a 
Rice  athletic  team  to  be  of  great 
importance  to  the  students,  to 
the  Institute,  and  to  the  commu- 
nity but  we  cannot  change  this 
fact.  Because  we  believe  that  ath- 
letic sports  are  an  indispensable 
adjunct  to  academic  life,  we  en- 
courage all  to  participate.  But  the 
maintenance  of  an  internal  sys- 


The  1920s 


107 


South  nest  (rolf  (Juimpions  1930 

Ki<'c's  fiolf  li-aiii.  iiniliT  llic  liailiT>lii|)  of  I'oresI  Lre  \ii(lrc«s.  ai;ain  |)ri)\eil  thai 
\hf\  knr«  llicir  masliics  in  llic  annual  li>iirnainenl  lii-lil  at  lloni^lon  lliis  year  li\  lap 
Inriii!:;  l»)lli  (In-  in(li\i(lnal  anil  llii'  Irani  rliain|(ii>nslii|(M>f  the  SontlmesI  lonfrrrnct- 

,ii>c  (;rrin«.Micl.  (iiic-  iif  llic  l>f>.|  r<>lli-j;ial<-  f;(ilfiTs  in  tin-  Stair,  sank  Icmj;  |pnll^  lion 
all  lorniTs  of  tlif  fircrn  to  ro|.  I  lit-  inili\  idiial  tillr  «liili-  (irecnwood.  Blaki-.  Mliaii^li 
Xndrcu!.  anil  lllit;  tcaiiicil  to  retain  the  team  ehainiiionshiii  tropin  la^l  \ear  li\  poll 
iiifl  an  afrnregale  seore  two  shots  helow  that  of  Texas  I  ni\ersit\  . 

\llhou<:li  Reiihen  \lliaii':li.  ia|)laiii-fleit.  is  llie  oiiK  teller  inaii  lo  relnrii  to  llu 
rani|>iis  next  vear  iiian\  \eleraii  f;olfers  will  he  on  liaiiil  to  take  the  place  of  lliosi 
lost  h\  ^raihialion  u  hen  spriii-:  rolls  aroiinil.  %  ith  Mhaii^ili's  hrillianl  |ila\iii;;  anil 
eoaeliin^.  to  he  relieil  on  ami  Cole.  MeCart).  Diekex.  \lnller.  I'lalli  ami  other  aspir- 
aiils  ■;ellin^'  their  form  perfeeleil.  it  is  not  too  iiiiiih  lo  preiliel  another  ehampionsliip 
team  for  next  season. 


Ii  I 


Ihr  Tn,,,ln 


(iHKIXWUIlll 


87.  Golf  team,  19^0.  Clockwise:  Lee  Andrews,  Tommy  Blake,  Reuben 
Albaugh,  Carl  lUig.  Jr..  foe  Greenwood. 


tern  seems  impossible  without 
external  competition.  Intercol- 
legiate games  have  proved  to 
be  extremely  expensive,  and  the 
Institute  is  losing  $20,000  to 
$30,000  annually.  At  the  same 
time  we  have  been  unable  to  hold 
an  honorable  place  in  the  South- 
west Conference,  and  we  cannot 
maintam  the  interest  of  our  own 
students,  much  less  of  the  com- 
munity or  conference,  unless  we 
win  more  frequently.  "We  are  not 
willing  to  go  on  as  we  have  been, 
and  we  cannot  abandon  athlet- 
ics." The  way  out  appears  to  be  a 
department  of  physical  education 
to  attract  good  athletes  and  a 
course  leading  to  a  degree  of 
Bachelor  of  Science  in  physical 
education.  In  no  way  would 
Rice's  high  standards  be  lowered; 
admission  would  be  open  only  to 
students  whose  first  interest  was 
to  go  to  and  through  college.  Fur- 
thermore, a  degree  in  physical  ed- 
ucation would  not  affect  the 
values  or  standards  of  Rice's 
other  degrees  in  highly  technical 
or  intellectual  subjects.  Although 
by  their  very  nature  different, 
standards  for  the  degree  in  physi- 
cal education  could  be  as  high  as 
those  for  other  degrees.'" 

As  presented  to  the  faculty,  the 
plan  proposed  that  a  course  in 
physical  education  be  estab- 
lished, with  certain  provisions. 
The  number  of  new  students  ad- 
mitted each  year  would  be  lim- 
ited to  40  (over  the  regular  quota 
of  400).  The  course  would  be 
open  to  any  student  seriously 
contemplating  coaching  as  a  ca- 
reer, and  additional  instruction 
would  be  provided  m  biology,  En- 
glish, business  administration. 


io8 


The  1920s 


and  education  so  that  students 
could  obtain  a  teaching  certifi- 
cate along  with  the  degree.  Per- 
haps most  important,  funds  for 
the  new  department  would  come 
from  outside  the  existing  endow- 
ment but  through  the  trustees  to 
preserve  the  Institute's  freedom 
of  action.  Rice's  very  limited  in- 
come would  not  support  the  crea- 
tion of  such  a  department  with- 
out taking  sorely  needed  funds 
from  established  departments,  a 
move  that  would  have  alienated 
faculty  members.  The  report  rec- 
ommended, therefore,  that  funds 
be  raised  from  among  Houston 
businessmen.  Approximately 
$20,000  would  be  needed  each 
year  for  the  first  five  years.  At  the 
end  of  five  years,  the  program 
was  to  be  evaluated.  The  faculty 
vote  was  thirty-six  for,  fifteen 
against.  Caldwell,  McCants,  Wil- 
son, and  Moraud  were  among 
those  voting  in  favor,  and  Evans, 
Tsanoff,  Altenburg,  and  Axson 
among  those  against." ' 

To  raise  money  for  the  physical 
education  program,  the  trustees 
first  held  a  conference  and  then 
gave  a  dinner  for  certain  Houston 
businessmen.  Houstonians  who 
contributed  to  the  fund  included 
Anderson-Clayton's  chairman. 
Will  L.  Clayton;  real  estate  and 
banking  king  lesse  H.  Jones;  lum- 
ber magnates  1.  W.  Link  and  fohn 
H.  Kirby;  department  store  ty- 
coon Simon  SakowitZ;  and  Hum- 
ble Oil  founders  Will  Parish, 
Harry  C.  Wiess,  and  Walter  W 
Fondren.  Baker  of  the  Rice  board 
joined  in.  There  were  a  few  in- 
fluential men,  such  as  Lamar 
Pleming,  Ir.,  who  declined  to  par- 
ticipate because  they  still  thought 


that  the  main  concern  of  a  col- 
lege should  be  to  provide  a  schol- 
arly education  for  "real  students," 
not  those  whose  chief  purpose 
at  college  was  athletics.  How- 
ever, Pleming  recognized  that 
he  was  "utterly  out  of  step  with 
current  ideas  in  intercollegiate 
athletics.""' 

To  head  the  new  department, 
the  Institute  hired  Harry  Alex- 
ander Scott,  who  held  a  doctor- 
ate from  Columbia  University. 
Scott's  title  was  "professor  of 
physical  education,"  and  he  re- 
ceived in  salary  about  the  same 
as  the  other  full  professors:  $6, 000 
a  year.  His  program  was  designed 
to  prepare  men  for  careers  in 
physical  education  and  coaching 
in  high  schools,  colleges,  and 
other  organizations  such  as  mu- 
nicipal recreation  departments, 
but  it  did  not  stop  there.  The  stu- 
dents also  took  biology,  chemis- 
try, education,  economics,  and 
business  administration  courses; 
they  graduated  with  a  state  teach- 
er's certificate,  the  competence 
to  teach  several  courses  in  high 
school,  and  business  knowledge. 
They  would  have  their  own  200- 
level  English  class,  a  chemistry 
course  with  a  morning  lab,  and 
two  special  biology  courses. 
Physical  education  students  were 
excused  from  Math  100.  How 
the  program  would  affect  Rice's 
ability  on  the  football  field  and 
whether  the  school  itself  would 
be  harmed  (as  William  Ward  Wat- 
kin  seemed  to  fear)  remained  to 
be  seen."' 


Aspects  of  Student  Life 

A  couple  of  new  departments, 
the  limitation  on  admissions,  and 
curricular  modifications  were  im- 
portant to  the  Institute,  but  they 
did  little  to  change  the  major  as- 
pects of  student  life  in  the  1920s. 
Nevertheless,  some  other  changes 
did  have  an  effect.  Rice  was  still 
new,  not  even  ten  years  old  in 

1920,  and  not  many  traditions 
had  been  solidified.  Students 
were  in  the  process  of  creating 
traditions  and  learning  how  to 
get  along  with  the  administration. 

One  of  the  best  and  longest- 
lasting  changes  took  place  in 

1 92 1,  when  a  building  that  would 
be  known  as  the  "fireside  of 
Rice"  opened  on  Main  Street 
across  from  the  campus.  It  re- 
placed a  hut  built  from  salvaged 
material  and  was  under  the  aus- 
pices of  the  Episcopal  Diocese  of 
Texas.  The  original  structure  had 
been  built  through  the  initiative 
of  the  Reverend  Harris  Master- 
son,  Jr.,  who  wanted  to  minister 
to  the  Rice  students  in  all  their 
needs.  In  1921  Mrs.  James  Autry 
donated  $50,000  for  a  cultural,  re- 
ligious, and  recreational  center 
for  the  students  in  memory  of 
her  husband.  Judge  James  L.  Au- 
try. The  Institute's  architects. 
Cram  and  Perguson,  designed  the 
building,  which  was  completed 
that  fall.  Autry  House  was  open 
free  of  charge  to  all  Institute  fac- 
ulty and  student  organizations 
and  clubs.  It  included  a  canteen 
and  cafeteria  and  was  welcomed 
by  students  who  had  brought 
their  lunches  from  home  or  had 
made  do  with  what  "The  Owl,"  a 
little  store  nearby,  provided.  Stu- 


The  1920s 


109 


88.  The  laying  of  the  cornerstone  for  Autry  House,  June  5,  1921.  Left  to  right:  Wilham  Ward  Watkin.  President 
Lovett,  the  Reverend  Herbert  L.  Willett,  the  Reverend  Harris  Masterson,  Dr.  Peter  Gray  Sears. 


The  1920s 


89.  Autry  House,  shortly  after  completion. 


dents  made  heavy  use  of  the 
building  for  plays,  meetings,  Sat- 
urday night  dances,  and  simple 
gatherings,  especially  for  bridge 
games  between  classes.  During 
the  school  year  1921-22,  260  or- 
ganized meetings  were  held  there 
and  18,000  lunches  served.  Many 
students  remember  with  a  great 
deal  of  fondness  both  the  Rever- 
end Mr.  Masterson  and  Mrs.  Eu- 
gene C.  Blake,  who  served  as 
matron  for  the  place.  An  advisory 
board  consisting  of  Mrs.  Autry, 
Dr.  Peter  Gray  Sears  of  Christ 
Church  Cathedral,  and  President 
Lovett  made  policy  decisions.  Al- 
though Autry  House  did  not 
cover  Its  own  expenses  as  had 
been  planned,  losses  were  made 
up  through  private  contributions. 
The  later  construction  of  the  ad- 
joining Palmer  Memorial  Church, 
a  gift  of  Mrs.  Edwin  L.  Neville  in 
memory  of  her  brother  Edward  A. 
Palmer,  gave  students  and  faculty 
a  nearby  place  to  worship." 

The  early  twenties  saw  several 
Rice  "firsts."  "Rice's  Honor" 


made  its  first  appearance  in  1922 
after  the  Thresher  campaigned 
for  a  school  song.  Ben  Mitchell 
put  words  to  the  Harvard 
"Marching  Song"  ("Our  Director 
March"  by  John  Philip  Sousa), 
and  at  a  pep  rally  in  the  mess 
hall,  students  liked  that  one  the 
best  of  eight  or  so  songs  consid- 
ered. The  first  May  Fete  was  held 
in  1 92 1,  and  even  though  the 
Thresher  editor  asked  in  1922 
what  it  was  good  for,  the  pageant 
became  an  annual  event.  That 
first  year  Queen  Rosalie  Hemp- 
hill and  King  Robert  P.  Williams 
reigned  over  a  lavish  spectacle 
with  a  court  of  honorees  from 
each  of  the  classes.  After  the  Rice 
Dramatic  Club  was  formed  in  the 
fall  of  1 92 1,  the  architecture  and 
painting  students  decided  to  sub- 
stitute another  creative  activity 
for  the  play  they  had  usually  pro- 
duced. In  February  1922  the  Ar- 
chitectural Society  held  a 
costume  ball,  the  first  Archi- 
Arts  of  a  long  series  of  student- 
produced  theme  parties  with 


highly  original  costumes,  design, 
and  entertainment.  On  the  liter- 
ary side.  The  Rice  Owl,  a  maga- 
zine for  serious  pieces  as  well  as 
perfectly  awful  jokes,  made  its 
first  appearance  in  1922.  In  1926 
another  literary  magazine,  the 
Raven,  was  also  published;  but  it 
lasted  only  until  the  summer  of 
1927.  The  Rice  Owl  continued 
until  1938,  then  changed  in  1939 
to  become  an  alumni  magazine 
as  well.  It  was  published  in  that 
form  until  1946. 

In  1920  the  Rice  Engineering 
Society  decided  to  repay  the 
courtesies  that  companies  in  the 
area  had  shown  the  students,  by 
inviting  company  representatives 
to  come  and  see  the  work  of  the 
engineering,  chemistry,  and  phys- 
ics departments.  The  society 
wanted  to  set  up  demonstrations 
and  create  a  show,  which  they 
called  the  Rice  Engineering  Show. 
Henry  A.  Tillett,  a  senior  me- 
chanical engineering  student, 
asked  President  Lovett  for  per- 
mission to  use  university  facili- 
ties and  print  a  program  for  visi- 
tors. Lovett  did  not  believe  the 
show  would  attract  much  atten- 
tion among  Houstonians.  He  re- 
fused to  give  the  society  any 
financial  aid  for  a  program,  but 
he  did  allow  use  of  the  grounds 
and  buildings.  Perhaps  because  of 
Lovett's  pessimism,  the  students 
pitched  in  determinedly  to  sell 
advertisements  for  the  program, 
and  they  raised  enough  money  to 
print  one  thousand  copies.  Lovett 
wrote  to  about  fifty  industrial 
firms  on  behalf  of  the  students, 
inviting  spectators  to  attend  the 
show;  but  until  the  day  of  the  ex- 
position, no  one  could  predict  the 


The  1920s 


90.  The  first  May  Fete  king  and  queen.  Parks  Williams  and  Rosalee 
Hemphill,  with  their  attendants.  Albert  Guerard  and  Molly  Tidden, 
May  10,  1921. 


91.  Stage  sets  for  the  first  Archi-Arts  Ball  (Masque  Espahol  or  Baile  Espanal). 
February  3.  1922. 


turnout.  Henry  Tillett  remem- 
bers looking  anxiously  out  his 
dormitory  window,  only  to  find  a 
number  of  school  buses  and  cars 
and  a  Ime  of  visitors  stretching 
from  the  Physics  Building  around 
to  the  Admmistration  Buildmg. 
Eventually  some  10,000  Hous- 
tonians  saw  the  show  that  year. 

In  the  first  show  were  only 
sixty-two  exhibits,  including  a 
"bucking  broncho,"  magnetic 
stunts,  and  nitroglycerin  explo- 
sions. The  Engineering  Society 
decided  in  1921  to  make  the 
show  biennial,  and  to  each  suc- 
ceeding production  they  added 
more  exhibits.  In  1922,  there 
were  X-rays,  liquid  air,  and  the 
Rice  radio  station  (syg),  plus  a 
coast  defense  searchlight  from 
Fort  Crockett  in  Galveston.  Shows 
in  the  1920s  included  "hooch 
tests"  in  the  days  of  Prohibition, 
beating  hearts  of  turtles  and 
frogs,  a  radio-controlled  car,  a 
new  automatic  telephone  switch- 
board on  loan  from  Southwestern 
Bell  (the  first  automatic  board  m 
Houston),  the  "den  of  the  alche- 
mist" (with  chemistry  students 
as  the  magicians),  economic  ex- 
hibits, and  architectural  draw- 
ings. More  and  more  departments 
participated,  and  by  1930  there 
were  319  exhibits.  The  1930s  saw 
a  television  receiver,  psychologi- 
cal tests,  a  paper-bladed  friction 
saw,  music  broadcast  over  a  light 
beam,  an  "oomph  meter"  to  "see 
what  you  have  a  date  with,"  and 
Woofus,  a  mechanical  creature 
described  as  "an  inhabitant  of  the 
planet  Venus  and  ...  a  gift  .  .  . 
from  the  famous  planet  explorer, 
Buck  Rogers."" 

The  first  campus  traffic  regula- 


The  1920s 


tions  made  their  appearance  in 
192  V  An  average  of  154  cars  a 
day  on  campus  made  it  necessary 
to  bring  some  order  to  the  roads 
and  parking  lots.  Nonetheless, 
the  usual  way  to  get  around  was 
still  by  walking;  President  Lovett 
could  be  seen  walking  to  campus 
from  his  home  at  the  Plaza  Ho- 
tel, with  his  bowler  hat  (straw 
boater  in  the  summer)  and  book- 
strap.  Professors  Heaps,  Pound, 
McCants,  and  Tsanoff  bicycled.^' 

Even  before  Coach  Heisman 
stirred  up  the  student  body  to 
boost  Rice  spirit,  some  of  the  stu- 
dents had  whipped  up  their  own 
enthusiastic  support  for  athletic 
teams.  The  Thresher  complained 
from  time  to  time  about  the  lack 
of  spirit  on  campus  and  urged  all 
to  turn  out  for  sports  events.  The 
cheering  section  at  football 
games  was  led  by  male  "yell  lead- 
ers"; one  Thresher  editor,  while 
praising  the  women  students  for 
wanting  to  be  part  of  the  school, 
thought  it  sounded  better  if  they 
did  not  join  the  men  in  the  orga- 
nized cheers.  Heisman's  arrival 
raised  school  spirit  considerably. 
In  1925  Sammy  the  Owl  was  res- 
urrected for  Rice's  game  with  the 
Aggies,  and  the  Rally  Club  was 
formed  to  help  usher  at  events  on 
campus,  cheer  for  the  teams,  and 
be  of  service  wherever  its  mem- 
bers could.  lack  Glenn,  Rice's 
premier  cheerleader,  was  the  first 
Rally  Club  president.  No  one 
could  accuse  the  student  body  of 
lacking  spirit  after  that  year.- 

Student  concerns  in  the  1920s 
ranged  from  food  to  faculty  to 
proper  senior  clothing.  Meals  in 
the  Commons,  often  still  called 
the  "mess  hall"  (possibly  for 


^^^^^^.^^^P^^^-^^^o^^- 


,  h.i~.n|;  ihitkiMlN. 


<^ 


Oih  In  br,l 
Jn.1  oily  It,  rue, 
\Ukfi  polilitians 
/f'rall/i\  am/  w/.v 


I.K.kc-.l  ui~.,.  thi  Ijiilti   uir.Ur 


•Let  your  counricncc  Ih:  vi.ur  bu.Jc."  «uI  ihc 
vote  tnhulatur  to  his  assistant. 


•^ 


What  mistakts  people  make.  Its  not  whose  run- 
rung  in  these  Spring  elections,  but  whose  running  Here   is  chronicleii   (he   hest   joke  in  this 
thi  Spring  elections.                                                                 The  Houston  Censor  Board. 


Ci>-eilucation  is  alright  as  long  as  girls 
allowed  to  attend. 


■She's    in    ternhlc    shape.  •    saui    the    con 
king  removed. 


That's  well  put,"  remarked  the  professional  : 
hi  sank  a  twcntv  footer. 


HK  S  (JOT  THF.  .^.\K  ON  MK,'  sighed  the 

.rrv  tree  as  C;eoree  cot  loose  «ith  a  full  swing. 


Uhat  IS  the  suit  worth  =  - 
Kifn   dollars.-- 

■Alright,  rii  take  it  on  account- 
On  accountof  what'  ■ 

■On  account  of  mv  other  hcing  worn  out. 


The  frequency  with  which  Rice  men  are  seen 
walking  the  boulevar.i  after  dark  is  mereU  an 
indication  that  thes-  like  to  exercise. 


The  office   has   adopted   a   new  slogan   for   this 
Iniversity:  ■The   Rice  Institute  founded  for  the 

idvanccment  of  letters,  science,  art  and  athletics." 


"What  arc  ynu 
"Noihing." 
"Why  don't  yo 
"I  haven't  star 

d..ing  = 

u  quitr 
ted.' 

^ 

.:    Didvouki 
::   Hardly, 
j:  Sapl.Answ 

k  me? 

92-93.  Two  pages  from  The  Rice  Owl.  92.  April  1924.  93.  December  1924. 


The  1920s 


113 


■the  rk^p:  owi. 


^#v 


nil    I'llll  ilM)l'HK  \l    I  ci\  I  i< 

h  lluy  iittol/uT,  my  ilarliua. 

Il'lw  ilM-rs  lliy/iivai-lo  mi:,'- 
h  then-  inmlhi-r,  uiy  tiiirliti^, 

ll'lm  aiiis,:'  lli.r  I',  iv.r.= 


(«<v 


/.■  Hurt  i,iH  xlmsf  .11 

Thy  sojl  ■jmriii  form  lit  kin: 
JiiJ  />■  mv  hvf/tirjtikcn 

.Is  Ihiiir/farilh': 

•ftht  Hrt  ymr  tips  sf>ftii-  truly 

tit  s/iying  Ihfy's.'  Ussfi/  l>nt  mi»/: 
lines  lliy  heart  ieiil  imllily: 
Or  ,hes  thy  smile  en.iiHii. 

/■■eliMKs  0/  srorii  ami  •imnsemelli, 
•is  I  press  my  afihiroits  plea: 

ll'hen  I'se  hleiod  in  my  seiiis  is  a  loireiit. 
Thill  is  r/igitig  mity  jor  thee: 

ff  so  you  mtty  smite  ut  my  passion^ 

ilnii  Kith  seoru  your  tips  may  eurt. 

1;  sn  .  .  I'll  follow  the  fashion, 
.'fu/i  get  me  another  zirt- 


\l.  lUOI  1:  HALl.l.  HAI.l  ADI. 
Thaukisiven  l.in  ieamen  in 

Ye  halfe  /„;,  (,  /.,..;,  ,/■:  „U.-  aroNU.l, . 

Y-ron,,.! 

I'flsom  ,«„',. 


VV  rejeree  .loth  ealle  a  fo-Mt. 
.1  plaxer  ■lr„i-;l,tt:M,-  ■p-iMh. 
lie  sm:l  !■   '  J. 


Cam:  Is  l-lsl.i:.  u..i:i-j  t.,  ll.t-  Ittlurc  I..nli.|lt  = 
Hert:  N'.iw.  Di.ln-r  v,.„  .,i-  Irn.  .Irink  .in   l.ni 
..llMcrilH-^ 


Austin  is  in  the  •^r;Uc  of   ItxHs,  is  it  not: 
No— It's  been  ,n  the  state  of  coma  since  Nc 
bcr  first. 


more  than  one  reason),  had  gone 
from  bad  to  worse.  In  1924  the 
manager  resigned,  the  kitchen 
was  overhauled,  and  the  food  im- 
proved a  bit.  After  one  food  not, 
the  administration  levied  a  fine 
of  thirty-seven  dollars  on  each 
diner,  whether  he  had  partici- 
pated in  the  fight  or  not.  That 
measure  effectively  put  an  end  to 
such  events. 

More  serious  were  losses  from 
the  faculty  when  Wilson,  Guerard, 
Blayney,  and  Chandler  left.  The 
Thresher  began  to  ask  if  the 
school  was  still  up  to  standard, 
whether  these  professors  could 
be  replaced,  and  how  the  univer- 
sity planned  to  fill  their  shoes. 
The  paper  reported  that  President 
Lovett  would  say  only  that  stu- 
dents should  know  that  they 
were  receiving  better  training  at 
Rice  than  they  could  anywhere 
else,  and  that  finding  new  faculty 
members  took  time.  Lovett  him- 
self was  traveling  so  much,  repre- 
senting the  Institute  at  various 
academic  functions,  that  the 
Thresher  once  reported  in  mock 
surprise  that  the  president  had 
actually  been  seen  on  campus. 

As  for  dress,  some  seniors  be- 
gan to  affect  canes,  wing  collars, 
and  derbies  on  certain  days  of  the 
week.-" 


Hazing  and  Social  Clubs 


Connected  with  school  spirit  in 
some  minds  was  the  practice  of 
hazing,  which  had  been  a  part  of 
student  life  since  the  first  soph- 
omore class  met  the  second 
freshman  class  at  the  door  of  the 
Administration  Building  on  regis- 


114 


The  1920s 


II.     A  Display  of  the  Iiidiistiial  Chemical  Apparatus  (ji>  Hand. 
No  expeiinients  will  he  cairied  (Hit  with  this  as  it  is  merely  a 
display. 

42.  This  can  be  shown  only  at  ni^ht  and  is  known  a.s  the 
Milky  Way.  A  solution  of  red  phosphorus  in  Ether  is  made  and 
the  walls  of  the  lab  or  a  dark  room  are  sprayed  with  it.  The 
clothes  of  the  persons  present  may  also  be  sprayed  without  any 
harmful  effects.     The  phosphorus  gives  a  "spookish"  effect. 

4;'>.      Last,  hut  not  least,  the  "("hambei-  of  Sighs." 
Xo  advance  information  will  he  given  out  as  to  this  exhibit. 
It  must  be  seen  to  be  appreciated.     Everyone  be  there.    It  is  per- 
fectly safe. 

(  O.NTIM  ATION    OF   THE   (  IVII.   ENGINEERING    DISPLAY. 

44.     Generation  of  Power  by  the  Use  of  the  Doble  Water  Wheel. 

The  water  wheel  receives  its  impulse  from  water  supplied  t)y 

the  Power  House,  and  drives  this  machine  so  as  to  generate  pow- 


45.     Measurement  of  Water  Flow   iiy  I'se  of  Wiers. 

Dy  varying  the  head  of  watei'  on  the  wier,  the  discharge  is 
increased  or  decreased.  This  effect  is  shown  by  the  dischaige 
curve  made  for  this  wier.  In  this  manner  the  flow  ovei'  dams 
and  spillways   is  determined. 


46.     The  Use  of  the  Hydraulic  Ram. 

The  i-am  receives  its  impulse  from  the  velocity 


1 V CO  iLo  iiii^Liioc  iivMii  Liic  \d»_'».iL\  >.»  1  tlie  Wtiter 
flowing  through  the  U-shaped  pipe,  and  is  made  to  pump  water 
against  a  variable  head.  This  piece  of  apparatus  is  used  where 
a  plentiful  supply  and  natural  source  of  water  is  availal)le. 

47.     Pulsometer. 

This  is  a  iyp^  of  pump  often  used  in  construction  work  because 
it  can  be  suspended  by  a  lope  to  lower  levels  and  controlled  very 
easily  from  the  surface.  It  will  not  operate  against  veiy  higii 
pressures  but  by  operating  two  or  more  in  series  water  can  be 
raised   fi'om  much   lower  levels. 

94.  Page  from  the  first  Rice  Engineering  Show  program.  1920. 


tration  day  in  191 3.  In  the  1920s, 
freshmen  had  their  faces  painted 
green,  had  to  wear  special  or  pe- 
cuHar  clothing,  and  had  to  obey 
certain  rules.  (No  freshman  was 
to  walk  on  the  grass,  for  exam- 
ple.) Men  were  forced  to  push 
mothballs  across  the  gravel  walks 
with  their  noses  and  were  sub- 
jected to  swats  with  a  broom  or 
a  paddle  for  infractions  of  the 
regulations.  Hazing  progressed 
through  "Forestry  100" — where 
the  freshmen  were  left  to  spend 
the  night  in  Hermann  Park — to 
brooming  freshmen  for  outland- 
ish reasons,  to  what  appeared  to 
some  people  to  be  simply  gra- 
tuitous beatings.  Before  long, 
Rice  gained  a  reputation  for  being 
the  second  worst  hazing  school 
in  the  state,-  Texas  A&JVI  was  the 
first. 

There  were  those  on  the  fac- 
ulty who  thought  that  such  a 
barbarous  practice  was  distinctly 
out  of  place  at  an  institution  of 
higher  learning.  In  191 9,  after  an 
episode  involving  five  sopho- 
mores and  the  freshman  class 
president.  Dean  Caldwell  moved 
to  stop  hazing  altogether  because 
nothing  serious  had  happened — 
yet.  The  classes  met,  supported 
Caldwell,  and  abolished  hazing 
for  the  remainder  of  the  school 
year  1 9 1 8  - 1 9  and  for  the  next 
year  as  well.  However,  abolition 
proved  to  be  difficult  to  enforce; 
hazing  had  resumed  by  1921.-" 

In  lanuary  1922  the  Student 
Association  passed  rules  to  con- 
trol the  practice.  Under  this  set 
of  regulations,  "individual,  indis- 
criminate, physical  hazing"  was 
not  allowed,  and  all  hazing  was 
to  be  strictly  between  freshmen 


The  1920s 


IIS 


and  sophomores.  Freshmen  still 
had  to  follow  certain  customs 
and  such  rules  as  the  sophomores 
decided  in  class  meetings,  and 
jurisdiction  over  violators  was 
placed  with  the  Hall  Committee 
and  the  Student  Council.  The 
Thresher  defined  "indiscrmiinate 
hazing"  as  hazing  without  a 
cause,  or  in  other  words,  beating 
a  freshman  just  because  he  was  a 
freshman.  The  editor  was  some- 
what surprised  that  the  Student 
Association  had  gone  so  far,  but 
in  March  they  went  even  further. 
A  new  hazing  bill  limited  cor- 
poral punishment  to  the  period 
between  6:30  in  the  morning 
and  8:00  at  night  and  called  for 
"discretion"  in  all  hazing.  Dis- 
satisfaction on  the  part  of  either 
freshmen  or  sophomores  was  to 
be  brought  to  the  Hall  Commit- 
tee for  redress.^" 

The  new  rules  did  not  much 
mitigate  rowdy  behavior,  and 
after  a  pitched  battle  in  May  be- 
tween sophomores  and  freshmen 
(which  involved  freshman  foot- 
ball players  and  members  of  the 
Alpha  Rho  club),  the  dean,  the 
faculty,  and  the  trustees  stepped 
in.  They  used  the  occasion  to 
abolish  two  aspects  of  student 
life  that  had  been  worrying  them 
for  some  time.  The  first  was 
hazing;  the  second  was  a  trend 
among  student  social  clubs  to  re- 
semble fraternities  and  sororities. 
Lovett  had  opposed  fraternity- 
like associations  from  the  begin- 
ning, preferring  instead  that  the 
residential  halls  themselves  take 
over  club  functions  and  become 
similar  to  the  English  college  sys- 
tem. The  university's  catalog  em- 
phasized that  the  campus  was  a 


democratic  one,  with  student  or- 
ganizations such  as  the  Student 
Association,  scholarly  societies, 
and  the  YMCA  and  YWCA  open 
to  all.  The  new  clubs  were  defi- 
nitely not  open  to  all,  and  there 
was  a  certain  amount  of  dissatis- 
faction on  campus  with  them,  a 
discontent  manifest  in  student 
elections  and  the  operation  of  the 
Student  Council.  Caldwell  re- 
ported that  students  and  many 
alumni  believed  that  the  clubs 
interfered  with  the  unity  and  de- 
mocracy of  Rice  life.  He  urged 
their  abolition  before  they  be- 
came strongly  entrenched.  The 
dean  also  recommended  that  the 
Institute  rid  itself  of  hazing.  He 
had  hoped  to  extinguish  it  by  a 
gradual  process  of  persuasion  and 
education  but  found  that  the  pro- 
cess was  entirely  too  slow  and 
dangerous.  Accordingly,  the  fac- 
ulty met  in  June  and  passed  reso- 
lutions against  the  two  distaste- 
ful practices,  and  the  trustees 
approved.'" 

On  June  8,  1922,  at  a  meeting 
with  students  in  the  physics  am- 
phitheater, the  new  policies  were 
announced: 

/.  There  shall  be  no  social  clubs, 
local,  fraternity,  or  sorority. 
II.  There  shall  be  no  hazing. 

Although  current  students 
would  not  be  required  to  sign  a 
pledge  to  honor  these  resolu- 
tions, all  future  matriculating 
students  would.  Stressing  democ- 
racy and  efficiency  in  student 
self-government  and  the  charac- 
ter of  the  university,  the  state- 
ment called  upon  all  members  of 
Rice  to  observe  the  resolutions 
faithfully." 


There  was  one  last  night  of 
hazing,  set  to  end  at  midnight, 
and  the  sophomores  made  certain 
that  the  freshmen  remembered 
the  experience.  Freshman  room- 
mates Fred  Stancliff  and  Wilson 
La  Rue  tried  to  barricade  them- 
selves into  210  West  Hall,  but  the 
sophomores  managed  to  come  in 
through  the  window  at  five  min- 
utes to  twelve.  At  that  point, 
Stancliff  remembers,  "all  hell 
broke  loose."" 

When  school  opened  the  fol- 
lowing autumn,  Caldwell  clar- 
ified the  bans.  To  the  board  and 
the  faculty,  hazing  meant  physi- 
cal punishment,  not  the  wearing 
of  special  outfits  or  the  other 
harmless  customs  that  had  be- 
come part  of  the  system.  Those 
traditions  would  be  allowed  to  re- 
main. Clubs  were  another  mat- 
ter. The  literary  societies,  EBLS 
and  PALS,  could  continue  to 
meet.  (There  was  already  a  so- 
cial-club feeling  about  the  so- 
cieties; but  presumably  their 
"literary"  purpose  was  still  in  op- 
eration, and  they  did  raise  money 
for  scholarships.)  The  others 
were  out;  the  administration 
wanted  the  Institute  to  be  pre- 
eminently democratic,  with  un- 
divided interests.  Caldwell  said 
that  there  were  only  four  funda- 
mental laws  at  Rice:  reasonable 
quiet  and  order  in  the  residential 
halls,  no  cheating,  no  hazing,  and 
no  clubs." 

For  the  most  part,  students  ac- 
cepted the  club  ban  with  good 
grace.  Since  literary  societies 
were  allowed,  two  men's  so- 
cieties— the  Owl  Debating  Club 
and  the  Riceonian — were  resur- 
rected, and  a  new  women's  club. 


Ii6 


The  1920s 


the  Owen  Wister  Literary  Society 
(OWLS),  was  formed.  On  the 
question  of  hazing,  however,  stu- 
dent reaction  was  mixed.  On  one 
hand,  opposition  to  hazing  had 
been  growing,  and  chiss  organiza- 
tions had  moved  against  the  prac- 
tice in  previous  years.  On  the 
other  hand,  some  upperclassmen 
worried  that  freshman  class  spirit 
would  suffer.  Others  resented  in- 
terference from  the  administra- 
tion; they  thought  that  this  was 
an  instance  in  which  administra- 
tion interests  and  student  inter- 
ests differed.  To  foster  freshman 
spirit,  upperclassmen  resolved  to 
enforce  observance  of  freshman 
"traditions,"  using  social  ostra- 
cism and  expulsion  from  the  Stu- 
dent Association  as  punishment 
for  transgressions.  Slimes,  both 
men  and  women,  were  told  to 
come  in  costume  on  certain  days, 
and  mothball  races  were  once 
again  held  in  the  quadrangle. 
Sensing  the  moral  backing  of  the 
administration,  however,  fresh- 
men disobeyed  and  disregarded 
the  rules.  To  enforce  the  regula- 
tions, sophomores  had  only  two 
tools:  ostracism  or  eviction  from 
the  dormitory.  Ostracism  was  dif- 
ficult to  carry  out,  and  suspen- 
sion from  the  dormitory  was 
almost  the  equivalent  of  a  mone- 
tary fine.  Nothing  was  settled 
during  the  first  year  of  the  ban  on 
physical  coercion,  but  the  dean 
was  satisfied  with  the  result.'^ 

In  September  1923  "slime  reg- 
ulations" were  published  again 
for  freshmen  to  follow,  but  en- 
forcement remained  difficult.  In 
November  the  dean  reported  to 
the  faculty  that  the  hazing  situa- 
tion was  satisfactory.  That  situa- 


tion did  not  last  long,  because  the 
following  spring  sophomores 
were  once  more  battling  fresh- 
men as  the  Slime  Ball  approached. 
They  also  tried  to  kidnap  the 
freshman  class  president.  It  ap- 
pears that  there  was  no  formal 
action  to  curb  the  annual  battles 
connected  with  the  Slime  Ball 
until  Coach  Heisman  asked  in 

1926  for  its  cancellation  because 
players'  grades  had  declined  dur- 
ing the  uproar.  The  Student 
Council  obliged  and  cancelled 
the  freshman  dance,  but  warfare 
was  transferred  to  the  Sophomore 
Ball  when  freshmen  tried  to  kid- 
nap the  sophomore  president.  In 

1927  freshmen  received  permis- 
sion to  reinstate  their  dance,  on 
the  condition  that  the  Student 
Council  draw  up  rules  and  police 
the  affair;  the  freshman  president 


was  once  again  fair  game  for 
kidnappers." 

Once  the  controversy  over  the 
dances  diminished,  the  Slime 
Parade  came  under  attack.  In 
this  parade,  which  ended  in 
a  pep  rally  at  the  Rice  Hotel, 
sophomores  herded  freshmen 
down  Main  Street  with  the  aid  of 
brooms,  belts,  and  other  spurs  to 
movement.  In  1927  the  trustees 
suggested  to  the  president  and 
dean  that  something  be  done  to 
correct  these  "objectionable  pa- 
rades," and  the  following  year 
they  abolished  the  Slime  Parade 
themselves.  The  Thresher  sup- 
ported their  action,  commenting 
that  in  spite  of  the  pledge,  soph- 
omores still  hazed  freshmen  in 
the  old  manner;  the  editor  called 
for  abolition  of  the  "vicious 
forms"  of  hazing.  During  1928 


9S.  The  first  Slime  IFreshmanI  Nif^htsi-int  Pdrade.  Fall  1921. 


The  1920s 


and  1929,  several  students  were 
expelled  for  hazing,  and  Cald- 
well optimistically  stated  that 
there  would  soon  be  no  more 
hazing  at  the  Institute.  But  haz- 
ing passed  with  the  students  into 
the  1930s."'' 

Alumni  Activities  and 
National  Associations 

By  1920  the  trustees  had  con- 
ferred approximately  160  degrees 
on  Rice  students.  That  November 
at  Thanksgiving  homecoming  ac- 
tivities, the  former  students  orga- 
nized into  the  Association  of 
Rice  Alumni.  Their  first  presi- 


dent was  Ervin  Kalb  'n.  Alumni 
continued  to  meet  at  each  home- 
coming, and  their  numbers  grew 
as  more  students  graduated  each 
year.  In  1929  the  association 
began  to  collect  funds  for  an 
alumni  memorial  building  of  of- 
fices and  classrooms,  to  be  dedi- 
cated to  the  memory  of  William 
Marsh  Rice  and  to  be  located 
across  the  quadrangle  from  the 
Physics  Building.'^ 

One  group  of  alumni  who 
wanted  to  join  a  national  organi- 
zation found  to  their  consterna- 
tion that  Rice  did  not  meet  its 
criteria.  Although  the  Rice  Insti- 
tute was  a  provisional  member  of 
the  American  Association  of 


University  Women  from  1922  to 
1927  and  Rice  graduates  were  ac- 
cepted as  members  during  that 
period,  the  association  refused 
regular  membership  to  Rice  and 
would  not  accept  Rice  graduates 
as  members  after  that  time.  The 
Institute  could  not  meet  mem- 
bership requirements  for  a  cer- 
tain number  of  women  on  the 
faculty  and  Board  of  Trustees,  for 
a  women's  dormitory,  for  physi- 
cal education  for  women,  and  for 
a  dean  of  women  with  faculty 
rank.'" 

Although  Rice  could  not  sat- 
isfy AAUW  requirements,  it  did 
obtain  membership  in  two  other 
organizations  of  national  stature. 


96.  Installation  ul  Phi  Bt'to  Kuppu.  Bciii  Clu 


larch  2,  1929. 


ii8 


The  1 920s 


In  1927  a  chapter  of  Phi  Lambda 
Upsilon,  an  honorary  chemistry 
fraternity,  was  founded  on  cam- 
pus. More  important  to  the  presi- 
dent, perhaps,  was  affiUation 
with  Phi  Beta  Kappa.  Lovett  be- 
gan apphcation  for  a  charter  for 
the  second  chapter  in  Texas  (the 
University  of  Texas  had  Alpha 
Chapter)  in  1921.  At  that  time 
many  of  the  organization's  sena- 
tors, who  voted  on  membership, 
believed  that  the  institution  was 
too  new;  more  time  should  be 
given  for  the  development  of  its 
characteristics.  In  1922  Oscar  M. 
Voorhees,  secretary  of  Phi  Beta 
Kappa,  wrote  to  Lovett, 

There  was  no  question  in  the 
minds  of  the  Senate  of  the  future 


of  Rice  Institute.  There  was  a 
question  as  to  whether  with  its 
changed  ideals  the  present  name 
is  appropriate.  Phi  Beta  Kappa 
has  never  entered  any  institution 
that  does  not  bear  the  name  of 
College  or  University.  I  presume 
this  matter  has  had  your  consid- 
eration, and  that  developments 
in  the  future  will  follow  the 
course  that  is  consistent  from 
the  point  of  view  of  the  Trustees 
and  Faculty. 

The  organization  had  denied  a 
charter  to  the  Massachusetts  In- 
stitute of  Technology  partly  on 
the  same  grounds  a  few  years 
earlier.  However,  even  without 
changing  its  name,  the  Rice  Insti- 
tute was  accepted  for  member- 


ship in  192H.  Beta  Chapter  of  Phi 
Beta  Kappa  was  installed  on 
March  i,  1929.  Dr.  Henry  Osborn 
Taylor,  an  eminent  medieval  his- 
torian, delivered  the  inaugural 
address. 

President  Lovett  left  the  1920s 
worried  about  problems  ranging 
from  finances  to  hazing,  but  he 
could  be  content  that  a  jury  of 
Rice's  scholarly  peers  considered 
the  Institute  good  enough  and 
broadly  enough  based  to  merit  a 
chapter  of  Phi  Beta  Kappa.  His  as- 
pirations to  university  status  had 
borne  fruit.'" 


CHAPTER      6 


Survival  through  the  Depression: 

The  1930s 


whether  Rice  would  attain  gen- 
eral recognition  of  the  university 
status  envisaged  by  President 
Lovett  or  fall  to  the  rank  of  a  pri- 
marily technical  institute  be- 
came almost  an  irrelevant  issue 
m  the  1930s.  Survival  was  its 
main  concern  during  the  Great 
Depression.  The  controllers  of 
Rice's  destiny,  the  Board  of  Trust- 
ees, had  changed  somewhat  over 
the  years.  From  the  1912  board 
there  remained  Captain  James 
Baker,  President  Lovett,  William 
M.  Rice,  Jr.,  and  Benjamin  B. 
Rice.  To  these  had  been  added 
John  T.  Scott  in  191 3  as  Emanuel 
Raphael's  successor.  New  in  the 
1920s  were  Edward  A.  Peden, 
chairman  of  Peden  Iron  and  Steel, 
and  cotton  factor  and  wholesale 
grocer  Alexander  S.  Cleveland, 
who  replaced  James  E.  McAshan 
and  Cesar  M.  Lombardi  in  1922. 
When  Peden  died  in  1934,  the 
board  elected  Humble  Oil  founder 
Robert  L.  Blaffer  to  succeed  him. 
Under  Baker's  chairmanship,  this 
board  remained  a  conservative 
group  of  men,  rightly  worried 


about  the  effect  of  the  depression 
on  Rice's  income. 

Until  1947  all  members  of  the 
Board  of  Trustees  were  actively 
engaged  in  managing  the  busi- 
ness affairs  of  the  Rice  Institute 
and  its  endowment.  The  assistant 
secretary  to  the  board  handled  in- 
vestments on  orders  from  the 
board  and  accounted  to  the  board 
for  all  income  and  expenditures. 
The  board  as  a  whole  made  most 
of  the  decisions,  both  large  and 
small,  that  involved  money.  The 
president  of  the  university,  on  the 
other  hand,  was  in  charge  of  edu- 
cational matters,  which  included 
preparation  of  each  year's  budget. 
The  board  approved  that  budget 
in  detail,  line  by  line,  and  no 
member  of  the  university's  ad- 
ministrative staff  was  authorized 
to  approve  any  expenditure  not 
specifically  covered  in  the  item- 
ized budget.  All  revisions  re- 
quired board  approval.  The  bursar 
on  campus,  J.  T  McCants,  was 
the  purchasing  agent,  cashier, 
and  supervisor  of  expenditures, 
as  well  as  overseer  of  the  auxil- 


iary income-producing  enter- 
prises, such  as  dormitories.  As 
the  institution  had  grown,  sepa- 
rate accounts  for  its  various  ac- 
tivities and  needs  had  been  added 
haphazardly  to  the  original  ac- 
counting structure.  The  result 
was  that  one  person  might  han- 
dle several  unrelated  functions, 
or  a  department's  account  might 
be  carried  on  the  books  of  an  of- 
fice that  was  not  the  most  effi- 
cient for  supervising  that  particu- 
lar activity.  Some  accounts  were 
carried  on  the  books  of  the  Rice 
Institute,  while  others  were  inde- 
pendent of  the  president  or  even 
of  the  assistant  secretary  to  the 
board.  For  example,  the  business 
manager  of  athletics  came  di- 
rectly under  the  authority  of 
the  board  and  worked  through 
channels  that  excluded  the  presi- 
dent and  the  assistant  secretary, 
although  the  latter  as  comptrol- 
ler of  the  Athletic  Association 
could  review  its  budget.  The 
board  faced  the  depression  with 
a  complex  financial  organiza- 
tion that  had  grown  ad  hoc 


The  ly^^os 


with  the  Institute  rather  than 
having  heen  phmned  for  efficient 
management.' 

A  Move  to  Reduce  Expenses 

By  March  ly^i  A.  B.  Cohn,  as- 
sistant secretary  to  the  board, 
was  predicting  dire  consequences 
if  expenditures  were  not  reduced. 
He  estimated  that  there  would  be 
a  reduction  in  gross  income  from 
the  endowment  from  $723,000  to 
$681,000  and  that  that  amount 
would  not  be  sufficient  to  cover 
both  depreciation  and  budget  ex- 
penditures. (As  with  a  commer- 
cial enterprise,  the  board  had 
established  a  depreciation  reserve 
account  that  either  served  as  a 
building  fund  or  added  to  the  en- 
dowment.) Furthermore,  Cohn 
said,  the  bond  market,  in  which 
the  Institute  had  invested  some 
$4  million,  was  unstable.  Some 
South  American  bonds  had  de- 
faulted on  their  interest  pay- 
ments of  $167,500,  and  certain 
other  bonds  were  especially  weak. 
Securities  continued  to  depre- 
ciate in  value,  and  defaults  on 
loans  secured  by  real  estate  meant 
loss  of  interest  income  as  well  as 
additional  obligations  for  Rice  in 
the  form  of  taxes  on  foreclosed 
property.  Estimated  shrinkage  in 
the  market  value  of  the  bonds 
and  notes  amounted  to  $978,000, 
a  staggering  sum  in  those  days.  In 
light  of  this  bleak  information, 
chairman  Baker  wrote  to  Presi- 
dent Lovett,  calling  his  attention 
to  this  situation  and  asking  him 
to  provide  a  statement  of  the 
economies  and  reductions  in  ex- 
penses that  might  be  made  with- 


out impairing  educational  effi- 
ciency. Baker  also  pointed  out 
that  some  of  the  trustees  were 
thinking  of  a  "substantial  reduc- 
tion" in  the  number  of  students 
admitted  and  of  reductions  both 
in  numbers  of  faculty  and  in  the 
salaries  paid  them.' 

When  the  proposed  budget  for 
1932-33  reached  the  board, 
however,  it  was  larger  than  that 
of  the  previous  year,  which  had 
amounted  to  $592,000.  The  new 
budget  called  for  expenditures  of 
approximately  $635,000,  includ- 
ing construction  of  an  addition  to 
the  Field  Fiouse.  Faced  with  ris- 
ing costs  and  declining  income, 
the  board  voted  unanimously  in 
Lovett's  absence  at  its  lune  24, 
1932,  meeting  to  reduce  all  sal- 
aries by  ten  percent.  The  board's 
resolution  pointed  to  the  "dis- 
tressing economic  conditions 
existing  throughout  the  world" 
as  the  reason  and  expressed 
the  hope  that  those  affected 
would  accept  the  reduction  "in 
a  spirit  of  hearty  cooperation 
with  the  purpose  sought  to  be 
accomplished."' 

Three  days  later  the  board  met 
again,  this  time  with  Lovett  pres- 
ent. Fie  offered  a  suggestion  from 
some  members  of  the  faculty  that 
married  men  receiving  less  than 
$3,750  annually  be  exempted 
from  the  reduction.  The  trustees 
did  not  agree  to  exempt  any 
members  of  the  faculty  com- 
pletely from  the  austerity  mea- 
sures but  did  vote  a  reduction  for 
these  men  of  only  five  percent. 
Professor  Wilson  had  suggested 
to  President  Lovett  earlier  that 
the  faculty  might  cooperate  more 
willingly  in  measures  of  econ- 


omy if  they  were  given  a  clear 
picture  of  the  financial  situation 
of  the  Institute;  possibly  for  that 
reason,  Baker  wrote  a  letter  to 
Lovett  explaining  the  need  for 
the  reductions.  The  tone  of  his 
letter  indicates  that  it  was  de- 
signed for  persons  other  than  the 
president;  it  included  a  statement 
of  revenues,  expenses,  and  net  in- 
come for  the  past  ten  years,  even 
though  Lovett  was  well  aware  of 
this  information." 

The  amended  budget  reduced 
expenditures  by  almost  $147,000. 
Swept  away  were  any  appropria- 
tions for  new  construction  and 
one-third  of  the  amount  normally 
allocated  for  new  equipment  and 
furniture.  The  library  budget  was 
cut  by  one-fourth  and  the  Ath- 
letic Department  by  a  third.  Sal- 
aries were  lowered  the  required 
percentages,  and  some  assistant- 
ships  and  fellowships  were  elimi- 
nated entirely.  The  trustees  ap- 
proved a  final  budget  of  $488,000." 

Because  of  the  agreement  un- 
der which  he  had  returned  to 
Rice  from  Scotland,  Flarold  A. 
Wilson's  salary  was  considered 
separately  from  other  faculty 
compensation.  The  Institute  had 
guaranteed  him  $8,000  a  year, 
and  the  trustees  believed  that 
they  could  not  reduce  that  amount 
by  unilateral  action.  When  ap- 
proached to  cooperate  with  them, 
Wilson  was  quite  prepared  to  do 
so,  though  in  a  manner  some- 
what different  from  what  the 
trustees  might  have  expected.  He 
offered  to  contribute  ten  percent 
of  his  salary  to  the  physics  de- 
partment, with  the  understand- 
ing that  his  salary  would  be  paid 
in  full  and  that  no  change  would 


The  1930s 


be  made  in  his  agreement  with 
the  Institute.  The  trustees  agreed 
to  his  proposal." 

To  reduce  costs  further,  the 
trustees  also  moved  to  decrease 
the  number  of  students.  The  In- 
stitute had  enrolled  a  record 
number  of  1,461  students  for  the 
year  1931-32,  including  a  fresh- 
man class  of  485.  For  1932-33 
the  trustees  declared  that  the 
total  number  of  new  students  in 
all  categories  was  to  be  held  to 
400  and  that  the  number  of  out- 
of-state  students  newly  admitted 
was  not  to  exceed  25.  The  board 
considered  a  tuition  charge  for 
non-Texans  but  did  not  go  be- 
yond discussion  of  the  idea.  That 
fall  only  403  freshmen  were  ad- 
mitted; enrollment  fell  to  1,372 
(930  men  and  442  women). ^ 

Costs  were  a  critical  factor  in 
other  board  decisions  regarding 
students.  First,  the  registration 
fee  assessed  of  all  students  was 
raised  in  1932  from  ten  dollars 
to  twenty-five  dollars.  Then  in 
1933,  when  vacancies  in  the  resi- 
dential halls  rose  to  forty  percent, 
Dean  Caldwell  and  bursar  John  T 
McCants  devised  a  remedy  that 
the  board  adopted.  Every  male 
student  was  required  to  spend  at 
least  one  year  in  residence  on 
campus.  The  board  felt  that  this 
arrangement  would  promote  the 
students'  welfare,  increase  a  feel- 
ing of  solidarity  in  college  life, 
and  fill  the  halls.  Each  lease  on  a 
room  would  run  the  full  aca- 
demic year  at  a  cost  of  ninety 
dollars  for  the  year;  henceforth 
no  one  would  be  allowed  to  move 
out  at  midterm.  This  regulation 
was  to  apply  to  Houstonians  as 
well  as  to  out-of-town  students. 


although  financial  hardship  would 
be  accepted  as  a  valid  reason  to 
postpone  the  period  of  residence. 
Many  men  had  moved  out  of  the 
dorms  in  previous  years  when 
the  Hall  Committee  cracked 
down  on  noise,  while  others 
moved  out  to  evade  distractions 
from  study.  The  new  plan  set  up 
a  committee,  which  included  the 
dean,  "for  the  maintenance  of 
conditions  favorable  to  study."  To 
promote  those  conditions  even 
more  forcefully,  no  radios  were 
permitted  except  in  the  seniors' 
dining  room,  fake  Hess  (for  whom 
Rice's  tennis  stadium  is  named), 
chairman  of  the  committee,  said 
that  the  group  would  be  very  ac- 
tive because  members  would  be 
paid  for  their  work  with  free  rent, 
and  the  only  cost  for  dorm  living 
would  be  board,  about  a  dollar  a 
day."  This  arrangement  was  an  at- 
tractive inducement  for  men  to 
join  the  committee  in  depression 
times. 

Another  revenue-raising  idea 
involved  the  Athletic  Associa- 
tion, the  Student  Association, 
and  a  variety  of  events  and  orga- 
nizations lumped  together  as 
"student  activities."  Until  1933 
the  Student  Association  had  been 
a  voluntary  organization.  Stu- 
dents who  joined  paid  $18  per 
year  in  support  of  the  Student 
Association,  the  Honor  Council, 
and  the  student  publications;  for 
this  payment  they  received  free 
admission  to  all  Rice  athletic 
contests  in  Houston,  the  weekly 
Thresher,  and  the  Campanile. 
In  May  1933  the  student  body 
adopted  a  resolution  favoring 
compulsory  membership  in  the 
Student  Association  and  a  blan- 


ket tax  on  each  student.  The  Stu- 
dent Council  requested  that  the 
trustees  assess  and  levy  the  tax 
and  provide  for  its  collection. 
Captain  Baker  had  already  been 
considering  such  a  fee  as  a  way  to 
increase  athletic  funds,  so  the 
trustees  approved  the  tax,  to  be 
collected  beginning  the  following 
fall.  The  blanket  tax  amounted  to 
$8. 40,  with  the  Athletic  Associa- 
tion receiving  half,  the  Cam- 
panile $2.50,  and  various  other 
publications  and  organizations 
lesser  amounts." 


Additional  Revenues 

Rice's  financial  picture  looked  a 
bit  brighter  when  Eugene  L. 
Bender,  a  retired  Houston  busi- 
nessman, builder,  and  lumber- 
man, died  in  1934  and  left 
$200,000  to  the  Institute.  This 
bequest  came  as  a  pleasant  sur- 
prise to  the  Rice  trustees,  since 
Bender  had  had  no  official  con- 
nection with  the  school  in  the 
past,  although  many  Rice  people 
had  stayed  at  the  Hotel  Bender. 
The  money  would  not  be  avail- 
able until  the  will  had  been  pro- 
bated, and  as  a  result  the  Insti- 
tute did  not  actually  receive  the 
bequest  until  1938.  The  trustees 
discussed  using  the  money  for  a 
badly  needed  library  since  the 
university  owned  more  than 
120,000  volumes  but  had  no  sin- 
gle location  for  them.  However, 
the  Bender  bequest  was  not  fi- 
nally used  until  1947,  when  it 
was  spent  to  construct  the  Sci- 
ence Reading  Room  (now  the 
Reference  Room)  of  the  new  Fon- 
dren  Library." 


The  ly^os 


Although  income  continued  to 
fluctuate  and  economic  condi- 
tions did  not  improve  markedly, 
the  trustees  decided  in  19  ■56,  at 
the  urging  of  President  Lovett, 
that  faculty  salaries  should  be  re- 
stored to  their  former  levels. 
From  1933  to  1936,  the  budget 
decreased  every  year.  In  1934 
net  excess  revenue  after  depre- 
ciation had  reached  a  low  point 
of  Si 6,600,  but  by  1936  it  had 
climbed  to  over  $144,000.  Only  a 
little  more  than  $21,000  was 
needed  to  restore  the  predepres- 
sion  salaries  of  the  grateful 
faculty  members.  The  new  bud- 
get for  1936-37  amounted  to 
$4S4,700. 

More  good  news  came  in  De- 
cember 1936,  when  trustee  Wil- 
liam M.  Rice,  jr.,  gave  10,000 
shares  of  stock  in  the  Reed  Roller 
Bit  Company  to  the  endowment 
fund.  The  stock  was  estimated  to 
have  a  value  of  $330,000  and  to 
have  an  annual  income  of  $8,000 
to  $12,000.  This  gift  cheered 
James  Baker  considerably.  "This 
will  certainly  make  it  a  merry 
Christmas  for  Rice,"  he  said  in  a 
newspaper  interview.  "It  is  pri- 
marily through  the  generosity 
of  such  men  as  Mr.  Rice  that  we 
are  able  to  look  forward  to  the 
school's  future  with  a  great  deal 
of  pleasure  and  confidence."" 

Two  years  later  the  Rice  Insti- 
tute received  another  substantial 
gift.  This  one  was  estimated  to  be 
$100,000  and  was  part  of  the  es- 
tate of  Arthur  B.  Cohn.  Cohn  had 
been  secretary  to  the  founder, 
William  M.  Rice,  and  then  as- 
sistant secretary  to  the  board  and 
business  manager  for  the  Insti- 
tute from  Its  establishment  until 


1936.  (In  1936  C.  A.  Dwyer  be- 
came assistant  secretary  and 
business  manager  in  Cohn's 
place.)  Although  very  encourag- 
ing, such  gifts  were  not  enough 
to  allow  for  real  expansion,  and 
in  1938  Baker  again  considered  a 
tuition  charge  for  out-of-state 
students.  Once  more,  nothing 
came  of  the  proposal." 


Changes  in  the  Faculty 

As  there  were  some  changes  in 
membership  on  the  board  during 
the  thirties,  there  were  also 
changes  in  the  administration 
and  faculty.  Dean  Robert  G.  Cald- 
well left  in  1933  to  become  am- 
bassador to  Portugal  under  Presi- 
dent Franklin  D.  Roosevelt.  At 
first  Lee  M.  Sharrar,  who  had 
been  instructor  of  economics  and 
Caldwell's  right-hand  man,  was 
made  acting  dean;  but  before 
classes  started  that  fall  President 
Lovett  appointed  Harry  B.  Weiser 
to  be  dean  of  the  Institute.  Weiser, 
a  professor  of  chemistry,  had 
been  on  the  faculty  since  191 5 
and  was  known  for  his  work  with 
colloids.  Believing  that  "young- 
sters are  inherently  reasonable," 
Weiser  anticipated  few  problems 
that  could  not  be  resolved  through 
a  better  understanding  of  the  stu- 
dents and  their  difficulties.  In 
1 9  3 1  Sara  Stratford,  adviser  to 
women  from  i9i4to  1931,  died; 
her  daughter,  Mary  Jane  Torrens, 
class  of  191 8,  took  her  place  but 
stayed  only  through  the  spring 
and  summer.  In  October  193 1 
Sarah  Lane  '19,  assistant  li- 
brarian, was  named  to  the  post, 
somewhat  to  her  surprise.  The 


97.  Sarah  Lane  '19  was  assistant 
librarian  of  the  Institute  and  became 
the  second  adviser  to  women  in 
'9}i- 


administration  operated  as  it  al- 
ways had,  however;  the  new 
members  made  no  significant 
changes." 

In  fact,  from  the  faculty  point 
of  view  the  Institute  must  have 
been  rather  quiet  during  the 
1930s.  Promotions  were  almost 
nonexistent,  since  there  was  lit- 
tle or  no  money  for  salary  raises; 
some  men  remained  assistant 
professors  for  years.  For  several 
faculty  members,  "the  spirit  of 
the  whole  institution  was  one  of 


The  1930s 


123 


hand,  Harold  Wilson  complained 
to  Lovett  about  the  infrequency 
of  faculty  meetings,  which  were 
being  held  only  once  a  year  to 
vote  on  candidates  for  graduation. 
He  thought  it  might  be  desirable 
to  hold  four  or  five  meetings  a 
year  and  for  Lovett  to  make  some 
statement  at  the  meetings  about 
policy,  future  prospects,  and  the 
Institute's  finances.  "This  is  done 
in  other  universities,"  he  wrote, 
"and  I  believe  it  is  valuable  be- 
cause it  promotes  the  idea  among 
members  of  the  faculty  that  they 
are  a  permanent  part  of  the  in- 
stitution and  that  their  coopera- 
tion in  all  matters  pertaining 
to  its  welfare  is  regarded  as  of 
value.  In  many  universities  new 
schemes  of  organization,  teach- 
ing, and  athletics  are  being  tried 
out  and  such  matters  might  well 
be  considered  here.  It  seems  de- 
sirable to  do  something  to  wake 
the  place  up  a  bit."  His  sugges- 
tions, however,  do  not  seem  to 
have  been  adopted.'^ 

When  salary  cuts  were  an- 
nounced in  1932,  the  news  awak- 
ened the  faculty,  but  not  quite  as 
Wilson  had  envisioned.  It  seems 
that  no  one  except  the  depart- 
ment heads  had  known  what  any 
other  faculty  member  made; 
when  somehow  the  facts  leaked 
out,  some  professors  were  upset 
at  the  inequities  in  compensa- 
tion. It  was  rumored  that  the  sal- 
ary cut  had  convinced  Griffith  C. 
Evans,  head  of  the  mathematics 
department,  to  resign,  because  he 
thought  the  reduction  showed 
that  the  board  was  not  interested 
in  building  a  university.  In  1933 
Evans  accepted  an  offer  from  the 
University  of  California,  Berke- 


ley. Berkeley  had  been  wooing 
Evans  for  years,  as  had  Harvard 
and  a  number  of  other  notable  in- 
stitutions, but  he  had  remained 
at  Rice.  Whatever  the  real  reason 
for  Evans's  departure  in  1933,  his 
leaving  was  a  blow  to  the  depart- 
ment. It  was  not  until  1938  that 
Hubert  Bray  was  promoted  to 
professor  and  formally  named 
chairman  of  the  department,  al- 
though he  was  in  charge  de  facto 
from  the  time  Evans  left." 

Although  some  of  the  trustees 
wanted  to  reduce  the  number  of 
faculty  members  as  well  as  their 
salaries.  President  Lovett  tried  to 
keep  as  many  people  as  he  could. 
In  1934,  however,  he  had  to  in- 
form four  instructors  that  their 
appointments  would  not  be  re- 
newed because  of  the  financial 
situation.  Frederic  W.  Browne  and 
Charles  L.  Browne,  eight-  and 
fourteen-year  veteran  teachers  of 
architecture,  along  with  Charles 
H.  Dix,  a  five-year  member  of  the 
mathematics  faculty,  and  Joseph 
R.  Shannon,  a  recent  temporary 
appointment  in  economics,  left 
the  Institute  that  summer.  For 
various  reasons — other  offers,  the 
need  for  more  money — some  oth- 
ers left  as  well,  so  that  the  num- 
ber of  faculty  members  dropped 
from  seventy-three  in  1930  to 
sixty-five  in  1934  to  fifty-eight 
in  1938.  After  that  the  number 
climbed  to  sixty-four  in  1940.  In 
1935  Rice  lost  another  revered 
member  of  its  faculty,  but  not  for 
financial  reasons.  Much-loved 
English  professor  Stockton  Axson 
died  at  the  age  of  sixty-eight  after 
a  long  illness.'^ 

In  spite  of  the  depression,  there 
were  some  additions  to  the  fac- 


ulty during  the  1930s.  Some  of 
the  new  men  had  been  hired  be- 
fore the  salary  cut,  some  replaced 
those  who  left,  and  a  few  came 
late  in  the  decade  specifically  in 
response  to  the  increased  num- 
bers of  students  who  enrolled  in 
engineering  and  because  of  in- 
creased accrediting  requirements 
in  that  field.  Among  those  who 
made  their  first  appearance  on 
the  Institute  faculty  during  the 
1930s  were  Tom  Bonner  (for 
whom  Bonner  Nuclear  Lab  is 
named)  in  physics,  Floyd  E.  Ul- 
rich  in  math,  George  Holmes 
Richter  in  chemistry,  Carl  R. 
Wischmeyer  in  electrical  engi- 
neering, Stayton  Nunn  in  archi- 
tecture, J.  D.  Thomas  and  Carroll 
Camden  in  English,  Lynn  M. 
Case  and  David  M.  Potter  in  his- 
tory and  Joseph  L.  Battista  m 
Spanish.  Joseph  I.  Davies,  who 
had  been  in  the  biology  labora- 
tory at  Rice  almost  since  the 
opening,  received  his  Ph.D.  m 
1937  and  in  1940  became  an  in- 
structor in  biology,  beginning  a 
legendary  twenty-five-year  career 
as  one  of  the  Institute's  most 
flamboyant  lecturers  and  inspir- 
ing teachers. 


The  Question  of  Tenure 

Nonrenewal  of  appointments 
inevitably  introduced  the  ques- 
tion of  academic  tenure.  Since 
the  founding  of  the  university, 
no  faculty  member  had  been 
employed  for  any  definite  time 
longer  than  a  year,  except  head 
football  coaches  like  John  W. 
Heisman,  who  had  a  five-year 
contract,  and  the  two  English- 


124 


The  ly^os 


men  Daniell  and  Huxley,  who 
had  been  given  three-year  con- 
tracts early  in  the  history  of  the 
Institute.  In  the  absence  of  a  for- 
mal system,  faculty  members 
seem  to  have  assumed  that  as 
long  as  they  did  their  jobs,  their 
appointments  would  be  con- 
tinued. The  custom  followed  at 
most  institutions  of  higher  learn- 
ing was  that  the  appointment  of  a 
full  professor  contuiued  for  life  if 
the  length  of  employment  was 
not  specifically  stated,  or  for  as 
long  as  the  professor  wished  to 
remain  at  the  institution  and  was 
competent  to  discharge  his  pro- 
fessional duties.  This  practice  did 
not  apply  to  assistant  professors 
or  instructors.  A  tacit  assump- 
tion of  tenure  for  full  professors 
did  not,  however,  appeal  to  the 
trustees,  since  it  limited  their 
freedom  of  action  in  reducing  the 
number  of  faculty  members,  es- 
pecially at  the  upper  levels. 

Aware  of  a  difference  of  opin- 
ion regarding  tenure.  President 
Lovett  wrote  to  several  colleges 
and  universities  around  the  coun- 
try in  1935  asking  about  their 
policies  on  the  issue.  Whatever 
their  responses  may  have  been, 
the  trustees  did  not  immediately 
state  a  formal  position,  probably 
because  financial  pressure  had 
eased  and  they  were  able  to  re- 
store salaries  and  allay  anxieties 
concerning  reductions  in  teach- 
ing staff.  It  was  1942  before  the 
bylaws  of  the  Institute's  board 
were  amended  to  state  that  all  of- 
ficers, faculty  members,  and  em- 
ployees were  to  be  regarded  as 
receiving  annual  appointments; 
no  one  was  to  be  employed  for  a 


period  longer  than  twelve  months 
without  express  authority  from 
the  board.  It  appears  that  no  for- 
mal review  procedure  was  estab- 
lished and  that  reappointment 
was  usually  automatic;  none- 
theless, the  board  had  the  ex- 
press power  to  remove  even  full 
professors." 

Because  members  of  the  fac- 
ulty met  as  a  group  so  seldom 
and  were  not  encouraged  to  dis- 
cuss the  university's  situation 
when  they  did  meet,  curricular 
changes  were  few  in  the  1930s. 
The  Department  of  Physical  Edu- 
cation survived  its  five-year  trial 
period  and  was  continued;  sev- 
enteen Bachelor  of  Science  de- 
grees in  physical  education  were 
awarded  at  the  1933  commence- 
ment. In  1934  Dean  Weiser  raised 
the  possibility  of  requiring  a 
nineteen-  or  twenty-course  sched- 
ule for  the  B.A.  general  curricu- 
lum instead  of  the  eighteen- 
course  schedule  then  required. 
Most  300-  and  400-level  courses 
seemed  to  require  no  more  work 
than  the  average  100-  and  200- 
level  courses;  and  since  there  was 
a  shortage  of  genuine  "advanced" 
courses,  Weiser  thought  it  advis- 
able to  require  another  course 
from  juniors  and  possibly  from 
seniors.  The  policy  was  not 
changed,  however,  and  it  appears 
that  the  faculty  never  formally 
considered  it.  An  innovation  was 
added  to  the  English  require- 
ments in  1937:  a  spelling  test, 
which  students  had  to  pass  in  or- 
der to  graduate.'" 


Some  Memorable  Professors 

All  was  not  gloom  on  campus  in 
the  1930s,  of  course.  Professors 
continued  to  have  their  idio- 
syncrasies. Edgar  H.  Altenburg 
liked  to  be  greeted  with  applause 
when  he  appeared  in  "Bugs  100"; 
but  during  a  snowfall  in  1932,  it 
was  snowballs,  not  applause,  that 
opened — and  quickly  closed — the 
class.  During  that  same  snow- 
fall, John  Slaughter  postponed  a 
scheduled  sociology  examination. 
He  declared  that  he  would  not  be 
coerced  but  that  a  student  com- 
mittee's kind  request  for  can- 
cellation, combined  with  the 
coldness  of  the  amphitheater 
(doubtless  because  of  snow  left 
from  the  earlier  bombardment  in 
biology  class),  had  convinced  him 
to  reschedule  the  exam  for  the 
following  Monday. 

Teachers  continued  to  take  roll 
before  each  class,  although  few 
resorted  to  opera  glasses  to  read 
the  numbers  on  the  seats  at  the 
back  of  the  physics  amphitheater, 
as  Claude  Heaps  did.  L.  V.  Uhrig, 
civil  engineering  instructor, 
developed  his  own  teaching  de- 
vice. In  September  he  would  give 
classes  that  had  returned  in  a 
continuing  subject  the  same  ex- 
amination that  they  had  taken 
the  previous  June;  some  grades 
were  rather  embarrassing. 

Frank  Pattie  employed  a  teach- 
ing practice  that  discomfited 
many  students.  His  psychology 
class  never  knew  when  to  expect 
true-false  examinations.  Seem- 
ingly designed  to  weed  out  those 
who  thought  that  his  class  would 
be  a  snap,  the  questions  were 


The  1930s 


hypothetical,  convoluted,  and 
"strange."  According  to  one  vic- 
tim, coins  could  be  heard  drop- 
ping throughout  the  amphi- 
theater as  students  employed  a 
time-honored  method  for  deci- 
sion in  the  face  of  ignorance.  Pat- 
tie's  demonstrations  of  the  uses 
and  art  of  hypnotism,  however, 
made  putting  up  with  the  exams 
worthwhile.  The  professor's  ad- 
monitions of  the  dangers  inher- 
ent in  amateur  experimentation 
seem  to  have  been  heeded;  in  one 
graphic  exhibition  of  hypnotic 
suggestion  for  violence,  the  hyp- 
notized person  actually  hit  some- 
one. In  spite  of  the  demonstra- 
tions, there  were  those  who 
scoffed  at  hypnotism  and  spoke 
of  the  dubious  value  of  this  "so- 
called  science." '° 

In  1934  a  prominent  Galves- 
tonian  complained  to  the  island's 
League  of  Women  Voters  that 
their  scheduled  speaker.  Rice's 
Radoslav  Tsanoff,  would  be 
speaking  "just  plain  commu- 
nism, pure  and  simple."  The  phi- 
losophy professor  laughed  and 
declined  to  make  a  statement, 
saying  only,  "If  anybody  pre- 
sumes to  know  the  contents  of 
an  address  not  delivered,  he  is  en- 
titled to  his  opinion."  The  times 
had  changed  since  Lyford  Ed- 
wards had  given  his  lecture  m 
191 8,  but  the  potential  for  an- 
other such  affair  arose  when 
Heinrich  Meyer  of  the  German 
department  wrote  a  letter  to  the 
Houston  Press  in  1938  defending 
recent  German  actions  on  the 
Continent.  One  reader  objected 
privately  to  the  board  and  the 
president,  but  no  public  issue 


was  made  of  the  matter  or  of 
Meyer's  views.  That  would  come 
later.'" 


More  Visiting  Lecturers 

As  in  earlier  years,  the  Institute 
continued  to  bring  prominent 
scholars  to  campus  to  speak.  The 
1930s  saw  such  well-known  fig- 
ures as  the  mathematician  and 
physicist  T.  Levi-Civita  from  the 
University  of  Rome,  Samuel  Eliot 
Morison,  the  prominent  historian 
from  Harvard,  biologist  Julian 
Huxley  (then  at  the  Royal  Insti- 
tute in  London),  and  Carlos  Del- 
gado  de  Carvalho,  a  professor  of 
sociology  at  the  Colegio  Pedro  II 
in  Rio  de  Janeiro  and  visiting 
Carnegie  Professor  at  the  Insti- 
tute under  the  auspices  of  the 
Carnegie  Endowment  for  Interna- 
tional Peace.  George  Lyman  Kit- 
tredge,  internationally  known  as 
a  leading  authority  on  Chaucer, 
the  English  ballads,  and  Shake- 
speare, came  after  his  retirement 
from  Harvard  to  lecture  and  to 
visit  his  former  student.  Rice  En- 
glish professor  Alan  McKillop. 
McKillop  told  his  students  that 
Kittredge  did  not  have  a  Ph.D.  de- 
gree. After  all,  who  was  qualified 
to  examine  him- 

The  French  Mission  Nationale 
Franqaise  Cavalier  de  la  Salle 
came  to  Houston  in  1937  for  the 
250th  anniversary  of  explorer  La 
Salle's  death  in  Texas.  The  mem- 
bers of  the  mission  were  Rene 
Maurier,  Mme  St.  Rene  Tail- 
landier.  Prince  Achille  Murat, 
Marcelle  Tinagre,  and  Fortunat 
Strowski. 


In  1938  James  W.  Rockwell 
founded  the  Rockwell  lectureship 
in  memory  of  his  father,  James 
M.  Rockwell,  a  Houston  lumber- 
man. These  lectures  on  religious 
subjects  were  inaugurated  by  Sir 
Robert  Falconer,  the  former  presi- 
dent of  the  University  of  To- 
ronto.'' They  continue  today. 


Only  a  Few  Building  Projects 

Straitened  economic  circum- 
stances in  the  thirties  meant  that 
there  was  little  construction 
on  campus  during  that  decade. 
There  were  additions  to  the  Field 
House  and  new  football  stands  at 
the  stadium,  but  the  only  other 
large  construction  project  was  for 
scientific  research.  In  1937  Rice 
physicists  began  building  a  2.5- 
million-volt  atom  bombardment 
machine  to  study  the  nucleus  of 
the  atom.  The  frame  building 
constructed  to  house  it  had  a 
heavy  concrete  floor  and  a  con- 
crete wall  twelve  inches  thick 
to  separate  operators  from  the 
machine.'"' 

One  other  construction  project 
was  completed  during  the  dec- 
ade. When  William  M.  Rice,  the 
founder,  died,  his  remains  had 
been  cremated  and  the  ashes  kept 
in  the  trustees'  vault.  In  1922  a 
committee  consisting  of  Presi- 
dent Lovett,  William  M.  Rice,  Jr., 
and  Benjamin  B.  Rice  began  to 
formulate  plans  for  disposition  of 
the  ashes.  This  group  of  men  de- 
cided on  a  monument  to  be  situ- 
ated in  the  middle  of  the  aca- 
demic quadrangle.  The  ashes 
would  be  placed  in  the  monu- 


126 


The  u;^os 


1 


98.  Unveiling  of  the  statue  of  the  founder,  William  Marsh  Rice,  June  8,  1930.  Ralph  Adams  Cram,  the 
commencement  speaker  that  year,  attended  the  unveiling  (right,  with  his  hands  in  front  of  him). 


ment,  and  above  it  would  be  a 
statue  of  the  founder.  To  sculpt 
the  likeness  of  William  Marsh 
Rice,  the  board  chose  John  Angel, 
a  well-known  artist.  On  May  22, 
1930,  in  a  fitting  ceremony,  the 
ashes,  a  certified  copy  of  the 
certificate  of  cremation,  and  a 
statement  that  Rice  was  born  in 
Massachusetts  and  had  died  at 


the  age  of  eighty-four  years,  six 
months,  and  nine  days  were 
interred  in  the  pedestal  of  the 
monument." 

Seldom  is  a  statue  installed  on 
a  college  campus  for  long  before 
it  receives  some  indignity,  and 
the  founder's  statue  was  no  ex- 
ception. Hazing  had  returned  to 
the  Rice  campus  by  1932 — if  in- 


deed it  had  ever  been  missing — 
and  the  sophomores  sent  some 
freshmen  out  to  "clean  and  shave" 
the  statue.  The  Houston  news- 
papers reported  the  story  of  the 
prank,  whereupon  a  member  of 
the  Rice  family  took  offense  at 
what  he  called  the  disrespect 
shown  the  "tomb."  The  soph- 
omores, the  Thresher,  and  others 


The  1930s 


denied  knowing  that  the  monu- 
ment contained  the  founder's 
ashes,  because  there  had  been  no 
pubUcity  of  the  fact;  in  the  furor 
that  followed,  sophomore  presi- 
dent James  H.  Scott  resigned 
his  office.  (Roberta  Woods,  vice- 
president  of  the  class,  assumed 
the  office  when  Scott  vacated  it 
and  became  the  first  female  class 
president  in  Institute  history.) 
Being  known  as  a  tomb  or  not, 
the  statue  has  not  escaped  the  at- 
tention of  other  pranksters.  Over 
the  years,  it  has  been  subjected  to 
innumerable  paintings  (by  Aggies 
and  others)  and  has  sported  Hal- 
loween pumpkins  on  its  head  and 
itinerant  neckties  around  its 
neck.'' 


Hazing  and  Other 
Student  Activities 

Nor  did  hazing  come  to  a  halt 
because  of  this  incident.  Dean 
Weiser  was  inclined  to  permit 
the  milder  forms  of  hazing,  which 
consisted  of  the  traditional  moth- 
ball race,  painted  freshmen,  and 
slime-drawn  water-cart  rides. 
Slimes  and  "slimesses"  had  to 
wear  certain  costumes,  including 
a  beanie  for  everyone,  a  green  tie 
and  red  suspenders  for  the  men, 
and  a  pinafore  for  the  women; 
and  all  freshmen  had  to  follow 
certain  rules  about  walking  on 
the  grass  and  showing  proper  re- 
spect for  upperclassmen.  The 
Slime  Parade  culminated  down- 
town in  the  usual  pep  rally  at  the 
intersection  of  Main  Street  and 
Texas  Avenue.  Despite  the  no- 
hazing  pledge  and  warnings  by 
the  dean,  however,  certain  out- 


lawed forms  of  the  practice  also 
continued.  Broomings,  Bayou  100 
(tossing  freshmen  into  the  "Blue 
Danube"),  Forestry  100,  and  the 
like  went  on  as  before,  although 
with  a  little  more  circumspec- 
tion. A  freshman's  broken  ankle 
in  1939  caused  the  dean  to  recon- 
sider the  situation,  and  in  1940 
Weiser  banned  hazing  again.  The 
Slime  Parade  was  allowed  to  con- 
tinue but  without  paint  or  pa- 
jamas, signs  or  costumes.  The 
ban  remained  in  effect  through 
1 94 1;  when  World  War  II  be- 
gan almost  all  the  men  on  cam- 
pus either  had  been  drafted  or 
had  joined  the  Naval  ROTC,  and 
hazing  came  to  a  halt  for  the 
duration." 

Hazing  was  not  all  that  kept 
students  busy  in  the  1930s;  in 
fact,  it  was  only  a  small  part  of 
life  on  campus.  On  the  academic 
side,  two  national  honor  societies 
joined  the  already  established 
chapters  of  Phi  Beta  Kappa  and 
Phi  Lambda  Upsilon.  In  1930  Pi 
Delta  Phi,  the  honorary  society 
for  students  of  French,  approved  a 
chapter  for  Rice,  and  in  1938  a 
chapter  of  Tau  Beta  Pi  was  estab- 
lished for  engineers.  The  engi- 
neers had  had  to  operate  their 
own  organization  (the  Rice  En- 
gineophyte  Society)  for  two  years 
before  the  national  Tau  Beta 
Pi  association  granted  them  a 
charter.'' 

Extracurricular  activities  were 
numerous.  The  May  Fete  was 
still  a  popular  spring  occasion, 
but  it  erupted  into  controversy 
in  1933.  Up  to  that  time,  only 
women  had  voted  in  the  elec- 
tions for  queen  and  members  of 
the  court,  and  the  literary  so- 


cieties had  virtually  controlled 
the  outcome  by  bloc  voting.  A 
number  of  independents — women 
without  literary  affiliations — 
challenged  the  societies  in  the 
election  of  1933  and  elected 
about  half  the  court.  In  the  heat 
of  the  campaign,  there  was  much 
rhetoric  about  the  evil  of  exclu- 
sive clubs  and  the  need  for  de- 
mocracy. The  Houston  Chronicle 
even  entered  the  fray  with  an  edi- 
torial deploring  the  factionalism 
on  campus.  The  result  seems  to 
have  been  that  men  were  also  al- 
lowed to  vote  for  the  May  Fete 
court;  after  another  challenge 
by  independents  in  the  class 
elections  that  year,  the  campus 
calmed  down  for  a  while. 

In  1936  the  May  Fete  again  be- 
came the  object  of  controversy 
when  the  queen  elected  was 
Bowe  Davis  Hewitt,  a  married 
woman  who  refused  to  resign  her 
position  on  the  grounds  that  the 
eligibility  rules  did  not  preclude 
married  women.  The  Women's 
Council,  in  charge  of  the  event, 
changed  the  rules  for  the  next 
year.  In  1940  a  male  student,  f.  P. 
Miller,  ran  for  May  Fete  queen, 
stating  that  he  was  in  the  race 
because  he  was  tired  of  having 
women  invade  all  branches  of 
business  and  competing  with 
men.  This  time  the  rule  that  the 
queen  must  be  a  senior  woman 
was  in  effect,  and  the  Women's 
Council  could  reject  Miller's 
nomination  automatically.  Con- 
tests between  literary  societies 
and  independents  continued 
at  the  polls,  however,  into  the 
1940s.''' 

Nineteen  thirty-three  must 
have  been  a  vintage  year  for  up- 


128 


The  1 9^  OS 


99.  King  Jim  Nance  crowning  Mildred  O'Riordan  queen  of  the  :9?S  May  Fete  before  an  assembled  court  of  class 
attendants. 


roars,  for  that  fall  the  Dramatic 
Club  precipitated  another  one.  It 
chose  the  melodrama  Uncle 
Tom's  Cabin  as  its  autumn  pro- 
duction. In  indignation,  the  local 
chapter  of  the  United  Daughters 
of  the  Confederacy  protested  vig- 
orously against  the  production  of 
a  play  that  they  labeled  as  "unfair 
to  the  South."  The  United  Con- 
federate Veterans  joined  in  the 


protest,  and  after  considerable 
publicity,  the  Dramatic  Club  de- 
cided to  change  its  presentation 
to  Rose  of  the  Southland,  or.  the 
Spirit  of  Robert  E.  Lee.'" 

Aside  from  financial  mat- 
ters, the  Institute  seems  to  have 
changed  little  for  students  of  the 
i9^os  as  compared  to  those  of 
the  1920s.  To  be  sure,  there  were 
a  few  differences.  In  1937  Jean 


Miriam  Slater  '38  became  the 
first  woman  to  hold  the  chair  of 
the  Honor  Council.  In  1938  a 
larger  cooperative  store  for  books 
and  supplies  opened  on  the  site 
of  the  old  one,  the  third  floor  of 
the  Administration  Building.  In 
1937,  after  fourteen  years  of  ser- 
vice, Lee  Chatham  resigned  as  di- 
rector of  the  Institute  band  to 
devote  more  time  to  his  business 


The  1930s 


12,9 


enterprises.  Kit  Reid  '37,  well 
known  for  his  trumpet  playing, 
took  over  Chatham's  duties. 
Lee's  Owls,  the  usual  band  for 
Saturday  night  dances,  had  relin- 
quished their  place  to  Pat  Quinn's 
Rice  Owls  Orchestra  in  1932. 
Jimmie  Scott  took  over  from 
Quinn,  and  Reid's  Night  (some- 
times spelled  Knight)  Owls  fol- 
lowed Scott.  In  1939,  after  more 
than  seventeen  years  of  publica- 
tion. The  Rice  Owl,  campus  hu- 
mor magazine,  merged  with  the 
Rice  Alumni  News.  The  new 
magazine  was  to  include  factual 
articles  and  alumni  news  as  well 
as  humorous  pieces;  the  old  Owl 
had  come  under  attack  several 
times  for  its  "low  literary  stan- 
dards." When  the  editor  of  the 
Thresher  complained  about  the 
lack  of  school  spirit  in  1938,  a 
student  answered  that  under- 
graduates had  become  more  se- 
rious than  they  were  in  the  late 
1920s.  There  were  still  the  liter- 
ary society  functions,  Saturday 
night  dances,  engineering  labs, 
interminable  bridge  and  poker 
games,  student  elections,  cloister 
courses,  and  the  inveterate  Rice 
booster,  gardener  Tony  Martino.' 
Sometimes  it  appeared  that  the 
school  administration  worked 
hard  to  keep  Rice  from  changing. 
From  the  opening  in  1912,  Rice 
students  had  always  "dressed"  to 
come  to  school,  partly  because 
people  dressed  more  formally  in 
general  and  partly  because  stu- 
dents had  traditionally  accepted 
the  aura  of  gentility  that  was  en- 
couraged by  President  Lovett  and 
many  senior  faculty  members.  In 
April  1936  sophomore  William 
losiah  Goode  showed  up  on  cam- 


pus in  Bermuda  shorts  after  the 
dean  had  already  frowned  on 
such  apparel;  a  committee  com- 
posed of  Dean  Weiser,  bursar  Mc- 
Cants,  and  registrar  McCann  told 
him  that  he  would  be  allowed  to 
finish  the  term  but  would  not 
be  readmitted  in  the  fall.  Accord- 
ing to  historian  Andrew  Forest 
Muir's  account,  the  technical 
charge  was  insubordination;  but 
Goode  claimed  that  he  had  mis- 
understood the  first  warning. 
Weiser  objected  to  the  shorts, 
Goode  said,  because  Rice  wanted 
no  new  fads  on  campus. 

Neither,  it  seemed,  did  it  want 
a  female  cheerleader.  When  1,000 
of  the  1,300  students  signed  a  pe- 
tition for  one  in  1939,  the  dean 
said  that  the  odds  were  a  thou- 
sand to  one  against  the  presi- 
dent's granting  the  request.  Rice 
would  not  in  fact  have  a  woman 
as  cheerleader  until  1946." 


Athletics — The  Golden  Age 

But  even  without  a  female  yell 
leader  and  after  a  slow  start.  Rice 
athletic  teams  did  well  in  the 
1930s.  lack  Meagher's  football 
team  had  improved  m  1932  so 
much  that  the  conference  cham- 
pionship was  not  out  of  reach  for 
the  next  season.  During  February 
examinations  in  1933,  however, 
eight  members  of  the  varsity 
were  suspended  for  violations  of 
the  Fionor  Code  and  thus  were 
ineligible  for  the  1933  season. 
That  fall  the  Owls  won  three 
games,  lost  eight,  and  placed  last 
in  the  conference.  In  December 
the  board  and  the  Committee  on 
Outdoor  Sports  reorganized  the 


Athletic  Department  and  re- 
leased Meagher.  In  his  place  as 
both  football  and  basketball  head 
coach,  they  named  limmy  Kitts, 
who  had  been  Rice's  basketball 
coach  for  a  year.  Dr.  H.  O.  Nich- 
olas, who  had  been  an  instructor 
in  chemistry,  was  made  director 
of  athletics,  and  Dr.  Gaylord 
Johnson  continued  as  business 
manager.  It  appears  that  Nicholas 
had  very  little  to  do  with  running 
the  department  and  that  Johnson 
continued  to  handle  athletic  mat- 
ters just  as  he  had  since  Heis- 
man's  tenure  as  coach.  At  the 
same  time,  Ernie  Fljertberg,  the 
coach  for  track,  resigned,  charg- 
ing that  the  Committee  on  Out- 
door Sports  did  not  support  his 
athletes  the  way  it  did  the  foot- 
ball and  basketball  teams." 

Hiring  Kitts  had  been  John- 
son's idea.  Johnson  was  responsi- 
ble for  arranging  support,  public- 
ity, and  direction  for  much  of  the 
Rice  athletic  program;  in  fact, 
without  him  the  Institute's  inter- 
collegiate athletic  efforts  in  the 
thirties  would  probably  have 
been  few  and  half-hearted.  Presi- 
dent Lovett  wanted  the  students 
to  have  some  athletic  activities. 
However,  he  was  not  accustomed 
to  the  fact  that  collegiate  athlet- 
ics had  become  a  business  and 
did  not  see  the  links  that  could 
be  forged  between  campus  and 
town  supporters.  Accordingly,  he 
was  content  to  let  the  Commit- 
tee on  Outdoor  Sports  and  the 
athletics  business  manager  run 
the  program.  McCants  had  re- 
placed Watkin  as  chairman  of  the 
committee,  and  to  be  sure,  the 
bursar  knew  what  was  going  on. 
For  day-to-day  matters  as  well  as 


I30 


The  1 9 ■50s 


100.  Rice's  1937-38  Southwest  Conference  champion  football  team. 


larger  concerns,  though,  Johnson 
was  in  charge.  Johnson  wanted  to 
hire  a  high  school  coach  with  a 
good  reputation.  He  reasoned 
that  every  high  school  coach  be- 
lieved he  could  coach  success- 
fully in  college,  if  he  were  only 
given  the  opportunity.  Johnson 
also  thought  that  every  other 
high  school  coach  would  send  his 
best  boys  to  that  coach  just  to 
prove  the  first  premise.  So  Rice 
hired  Kitts  from  the  Athens, 
Texas,  high  school  as  basketball 
coach  in  1933,  then  made  him 
football  coach  as  well  in  1934." 

With  the  suspended  players 
back  in  action,  Kitts's  first  season 
was  a  triumph.  Rice  boasted  four 
All-Conference  players  that  year: 
Leche  Sylvester,  Ralph  Miller, 
and  Ail-Americans  Bill  Wallace 
and  John  McCauley  At  the  Bay- 
lor game,  which  clinched  the 
conference  championship,  Presi- 
dent Lovett  came  to  the  locker 
room  before  the  game  to  exhort 
the  team  to  victory.  John  Mc- 
Cauley had  left  one  of  his  shoes 


behind,  and  Lovett  used  the  op- 
portunity to  tell  the  story  of 
Jason  from  Greek  mythology, 
who  was  aJso  missing  a  shoe  at 
the  beginning  of  his  adventure.  It 
is  said  that  in  the  middle  of  the 
president's  talk,  one  of  the  ends, 
Frank  Steen,  turned  to  captain 
Percy  Arthur  and  asked,  "Cap- 
tain, who  in  the  hell  did  Jason 
play  for;"" 

Rice  won  the  Southwest  Con- 
ference championship  under 
Kitts  in  1934  and  again  in  1937. 
In  1938  the  Owls  played  their 
first  Cotton  Bowl  game,  beating 
Colorado  28-14.  This  game  was 
the  second  played  under  the  des- 
ignation "the  Cotton  Bowl," 
which  was  at  that  time  a  private 
enterprise  run  by  Dallas  busi- 
nessman J.  Curtis  Sanford.  In 
that  same  year  the  conference 
contracted  to  play  in  the  bowl 
game  for  three  years.  A  group 
known  as  the  Custodian  Com- 
mittee of  the  Cotton  Bowl  Game 
took  it  over  in  1940,  and  that  fall 
the  conference  faculty  represen- 


tatives approved  the  creation  of 
the  Cotton  Bowl  Athletic  Associ- 
ation as  an  agency  of  the  con- 
ference. Some  have  suggested 
that  there  was  some  opposition 
in  conference  schools  to  such  an 
endeavor,  but  that  through  the 
combined  efforts  of  Rice's  Gay- 
lord  Johnson,  James  Stewart 
(director  of  the  State  Fair),  and 
Dan  Rogers  of  Texas  Christian 
University,  the  opposition  was 
overcome.'' 

With  the  addition  of  Eddie 
Dyer  and  Emmett  Brunson  [for- 
mer Rice  stars)  to  the  coaching 
staff,  and  with  the  support  of 
booster  clubs  made  up  of  all  sorts 
of  Houstonians,  the  Rice  athletic 
program  took  off.  Johnson,  Nich- 
olas, the  Committee  on  Outdoor 
Sports,  and  the  coaches  all  worked 
for  a  balanced  program,  and  the 
Institute  reaped  the  rewards. 
Even  with  mediocre  football 
teams,  Rice  beat  Texas  from  1934 
to  1938.  Kitts's  1935  basketball 
team  tied  for  first  place  in  the 
conference  with  Arkansas  and 


The  1930s 


131 


loi.  A  moment  from  a  basketball  game  in  1935,  the  yeai  when  the  Owls 
tied  with  two  other  universities  for  the  conference  championship. 


102.  £.  Y.  Steakley,  a  star  from  the  193S  track  team,  nosing  out  a  victory. 


Southern  Methodist.  Buster  Bran- 
non,  who  was  hired  in  1939, 
coached  the  1940  team  to  an- 
other championship  with  stars 
Frank  Carswell  and  Bob  Kinney. 
In  track  Brunson  coached  Fred 
Wolcott,  the  first  man  to  hold 
world  records  for  both  high  and 
low  220-yard  hurdles.  But  that 
was  not  all.  Brunson  also  coached 
Calvin  Bell,  Paul  Sanders,  Robert 
Fowler,  and  Joe  Blagg  to  help  wm 
the  conference  in  1938  and  1939. 
After  Jake  and  Wilbur  Hess  won 
tennis  honors  in  the  early  thir- 
ties, Frank  Guernsey  and  Dick 
Morris  starred  in  1938  and  1939. 
Golf  was  not  left  out,  as  the  1939 
team  of  Ed  Letscher,  Harry  Chris- 
mann,  Joe  Finger,  and  Ed  Seaman 
also  won  the  conference  cham- 
pionship. Veteran  sportswriter 
Clark  Nealon  rightly  calls 
the  1930s  Rice's  "golden  era  of 
athletics."'" 

It  was  clear  by  1937  that,  with 
strong  community  support  for 
Rice  teams,  especially  in  football, 
the  Rice  Institute  badly  needed  a 
new  athletic  stadium.  The  old 
bleachers  held  nine  or  ten  thou- 
sand spectators,  but  thousands 
more  wanted  to  come  to  the 
games.  Because  of  the  grim  fi- 
nancial conditions,  the  trustees 
could  not  justify  any  construc- 
tion out  of  Institute  funds.  When 
the  alumni  association,  the  R 
Association  (made  up  of  Rice  let- 
termen),  Gaylord  Johnson,  and 
J.  T  McCants  proposed  that  the 
old  stadium  be  renovated,  the 
trustees  were  perfectly  willing  to 
give  the  group  a  chance  to  raise 
money  outside  the  campus,  with 
the  provision,  of  course,  that  the 
improved  stadium  remain  the 


132 


The  1930s 


103.  The  1938  tennis  team.  Left  to  right:  Frank  Guernsey,  Joe  Lucia.  Ebbie  Holden.  Max  Campbell.  Guernsey  was  the 
outstanding  player  in  the  Southwest  Conference. 


property  of  the  Institute  and  un- 
der the  direct  control  of  the  trust- 
ees. The  money  was  raised,  in- 
cluding Si 5,000  that  the  board 
donated  from  proceeds  of  the 
1938  Cotton  Bowl  game;  William 
Ward  Watkin  drew  up  plans,  and 
the  rehabilitated  stadium  soon 
held  30,000  screaming  football 
fans.'' 

After  a  disappointing  season  in 
1938  and  a  disastrous  one  in 
1939,  Jimmy  Kitts  was  dismissed 
by  the  Committee  on  Outdoor 
Sports.  In  his  place  the  board 
hired  Jess  Claiborne  Neely,  who 
had  been  coaching  at  Clemson 
Agricultural  College.  In  Neely's 
first  season,  the  Owls  tied  for 
third  in  the  conference  with  the 
University  of  Texas  (defeating 
Texas  13-0),  and  in  1941  they 
fell  to  fourth.  Neely  barely  had 
time  to  build  a  team  before 
World  War  II  disrupted  everyone's 
plans.'' 


The  Distant  Thunder  of 
World  Events 

Rice  was  still  its  own  little  island 
during  the  1930s.  Only  occasion- 
ally did  the  outside  world  seem 
to  make  any  impression  on  the 
campus  beyond  student  discus- 
sions in  the  dormitories  or  Autry 
House.  Students  writing  in  the 
Thresher  made  few  comments 
about  the  depression  or  politics 
until  the  middle  thirties,  and 
then  only  in  response  to  specific 
events.  In  1935  a  poll  taken  by 
the  Literary  Digest  and  the  As- 
sociation of  College  Editors  re- 
vealed that  Rice  students  op- 
posed the  League  of  Nations  and 
wanted  to  stay  out  of  war  if  one 
came,  but  that  they  favored  uni- 
versal conscription  in  time  of 
war,  along  with  government  con- 
trol of  munitions  and  fighting  if 
the  United  States  were  invaded. 
In  spring  1936  a  satirical  move- 


ment begun  at  Princeton  and 
calling  Itself  the  "Veterans  of  Fu- 
ture Wars"  came  to  campus.  Rice 
students  who  proclaimed  them- 
selves members  of  the  organi- 
zation called  for  their  "1965  bo- 
nuses" to  be  paid  immediately. 
At  a  rowdy  meeting  they  elected 
officers,  including  lobbyists  to 
represent  the  Rice  chapter  in 
Washington.  Antagonistic  stu- 
dents pelted  the  "future  vets" 
with  mud  balls  and  interrupted 
them  with  catcalls.  Although 
some  genuine  veterans'  groups 
protested  the  existence  of  such 
an  organization.  Dean  Weiser 
said  he  thought  the  protest  move- 
ment was  a  farce;  he  took  no  ac- 
tion against  the  satirical  group. 
After  the  rally,  it  appears  that  the 
students  simply  went  back  to 
their  books  or  card  games.'" 

When  events  brought  Europe  to 
the  brink  of  war  in  1939,  the 
Thresher  began  to  publish  more 


The  1930s 


133 


104.  The  1939  golf  team.  Ed  Letscber  and  Joe  Finger  llettermen)  were  co-captains. 


articles  about  the  world  outside 
the  hedges.  The  actual  declara- 
tion of  war  by  Great  Britain 
against  Germany  in  September 
moved  President  Lovett  in  his 
matriculation  address  to  call  for 
strict  observance  of  neutrality  by 
the  students;  he  urged  them  to 
"resolve  to  go  forward  with  the 
business  that  brings  you  here  as 
though  there  were  no  war,  and 
thereby  become  better  equipped 
to  serve  the  country  with  all  your 
might  in  peace  and,  if  you  must, 


in  war."  Rice  had  its  first  casu- 
alty that  September.  Kurt  von 
lohnson  had  been  a  student  from 
1929  until  1 93 1,  when  his  family 
moved  back  to  their  German 
homeland.  Von  Johnson  became 
a  lieutenant  in  the  German  army 
and  died  in  the  invasion  of 
Poland. 

In  October  1939  the  dean 
moved  to  abolish  a  new  organiza- 
tion on  campus,  the  Rice  Progres- 
sive Party.  The  purpose  of  the 
party  was  to  increase  political  in- 


terest on  campus,  although  the 
dean  did  not  object  to  that.  His 
reservations  concerned  other  par- 
ties that  might  be  organized  in 
opposition  and  whether  the  party 
would  remain  true  to  its  original 
purpose.  Weiser  thought  that  the 
best  interests  of  the  Institute 
would  not  be  served  through 
such  organizations.*"' 

By  the  end  of  the  decade,  the 
distant  thunder  of  world  events 
was  moving  ever  closer  to  Amer- 
ica and  to  the  Rice  Institute. 


CHAPTER   7 


A  Decade  of  Change:  The  1940s 


The  declaration  of  war  against 
Japan  and  Germany  by  the  United 
States  had  httle  immediate  effect 
on  the  Rice  campus.  Seniors  did 
not  enhst  m  large  numbers  in 
[December  1941,  unlike  their 
counterparts  in  April  19 17;  in 
fact,  the  Thresher  advised  stu- 
dents to  stay  in  school  and  finish 
the  year.  Neither  did  the  univer- 
sity administration  try  to  make 
any  schedule  changes  for  the 
spring  of  1942.  In  May  1941  the 
Navy  had  established  an  ROTC 
unit  at  Rice,  and  in  September 
107  freshmen  and  sophomores 
had  been  accepted  into  the  volun- 
tary program."  As  a  result,  there 
was  no  need  to  impose  a  military 
structure  on  the  entire  campus, 
as  the  administration  had  done  in 
1917. 


War  Affects  the  Campus 

In  February  1942  the  faculty  pro- 
posed and  the  board  accepted  a 
plan  to  help  seniors  graduate  be- 


fore entering  the  service.  The  ac- 
ademic year  for  engineers  and 
architects  would  conclude  early, 
and  the  date  for  commencement 
exercises  was  moved  forward.  For 
the  school  year  1942-43,  senior 
classes  in  engineering  and  archi- 
tecture were  accelerated  to  finish 
by  April  3,  1943.  In  addition,  all 
students  who  held  senior  stand- 
ing by  the  end  of  the  spring  term 
in  1942  were  allowed  to  take  two 
courses  at  approved  summer 
schools,  add  one  extra  course  to 
the  regular  senior  schedule  in  the 
fall  at  Rice,  and  complete  their 
graduation  requirements  in  Feb- 
ruary 1943.  Predental,  prelaw, 
and  premedical  students  who  left 
to  pursue  professional  degrees 
after  their  third  year  received 
bachelor's  degrees  from  Rice  after 
their  professional  graduation. 
Schedules  for  all  other  students 
remained  the  same  as  in  previous 
years.' 

To  keep  open  the  colleges  and 
universities  of  the  United  States 
that  would  supply  the  military 
with  officers  and  trained  special- 


ists, the  Army  and  Navy  spec- 
ified that  some  colleges  have 
training  programs  that  would  be 
separate  from  their  ROTC  units. 
Some  schools,  like  Rice,  taught 
naval  engineers;  others,  such  as 
Texas  A&M  and  Texas  Tech- 
nological College,  taught  army 
engineers  and  aviation  cadets. 
Under  these  programs,  men  were 
picked  by  a  branch  of  service  and 
assigned  to  a  campus  for  training. 
While  in  training,  they  were  on 
active  duty:  they  received  pay,  re- 
mained in  uniform,  and  were 
governed  by  general  military  dis- 
cipline. President  Lovett  was 
notified  in  March  1943  that  Rice 
had  been  selected  for  the  pro- 
gram; he  was  instructed  to  pre- 
pare for  S30  trainees  (342  engi- 
neering students  designated 
"V-12"  and  188  ROTC  students).' 

Although  the  Navy  did  not 
take  over  the  school — the  total 
student  body  remained  about  half 
civilian — at  times  it  looked  as  if 
the  sailors  had.  Navy  men  out- 
numbered civilian  men  by  about 
two  to  one,  and  no  civilian  men 


The  1940s 


135 


were  housed  on  campus.  The  res- 
idential halls  were  renovated  and 
repaired,  and  two  new  class- 
rooms for  the  Navy  were  con- 
structed over  the  machine  shop. 
Rice  also  went  on  the  Navy's 
schedule,  continuing  classes 
year-round.  The  Navy  prescribed 
the  curriculum  and  general  course 
outlines  for  its  officer  training 
and  engineering  courses  and  also 
set  the  calendar  to  consist  of 
three  sixteen-week  terms  begni- 
ning  in  July,  November,  and 
March.  Under  this  accelerated 
schedule,  commencement  exer- 
cises were  held  at  the  end  of  each 
two-term  segment  bcgmnmg  in 
February  1944  and  lastmg  until 
March  1946.  The  thirty-third 
commencement  in  fune  1946  put 
the  Institute  back  on  its  normal 
prewar  academic  calendar.' 

Navy  men  had  to  follow  a  mili- 
tary routine  that  included  re- 
veille at  6:00  A.M.,  drill,  specified 
study  time  from  7:30  to  io;oo 
P.M.,  and  taps  at  10:30.  However, 
they  could  also  participate  m  any 
extracurricular  activities  that  did 
not  interfere  with  their  courses 
or  duties.  They  joined  clubs, 
went  to  parties,  played  on  both 
intramural  and  varsity  teams, 
took  part  in  the  air-raid  and 
blackout  drills,  and  behaved 
pretty  much  as  other  Rice  stu- 
dents did.  Some  of  the  V-12  men, 
however,  were  unprepared  for 
college  work,  and  their  grades 
suffered.  Six  weeks  after  the  start 
of  the  program,  Wednesday  night 
liberty  was  canceled,  and  the  Sec- 
ond Battalion  was  ordered  to  re- 
main on  campus  to  work  on  their 
studies.  The  V-12  students  were 
also  handicapped  in  their  gradua- 


tion credits.  The  Navy  sent  them 
to  Rice  for  six  to  eight  terms, 
after  which  they  went  to  Reserve 
Midshipmen's  School  or  to  an- 
other assignment,  but  without 
the  full  number  of  credits  needed 
to  meet  Rice's  graduation  re- 
quirements. Dean  G.  H.  Richter 
remembers  that  some  of  these 
men  disliked  the  Institute  while 
they  were  there  and  swore  they 
would  never  come  back;  yet 
many  did  return  after  the  war  to 
earn  their  degrees.' 

Although  the  campus  was  rela- 
tively quiet  during  the  war,  an 
off-campus  incident  resulted  in 
the  termination  of  an  instructor's 
appointment.  Heinnch  K.  E.  M. 
Meyer,  an  instructor  in  German 
who  had  verbally  defended  his 
native  Germany  five  years  before, 
was  found  guilty  in  federal  court 
of  securing  his  United  States  citi- 
zenship by  fraud.  The  court  can- 
celed his  naturalization  certifi- 
cate in  February  1943,  and  that 
same  month  the  trustees  released 
him  from  the  faculty.  Although 
the  Fifth  Circuit  Court  of  Ap- 
peals reinstated  Meyer's  citi- 
zenship, he  did  not  return  to  the 
Institute." 

With  the  cessation  of  hostil- 
ities, the  Navy  program  in 
schools  with  only  V-12  units 
came  to  a  halt  in  November 
1945.  In  those  schools  that  had 
both  V-12  and  Naval  ROTC 
units,  as  Rice  did,  the  program 
continued  until  luly  1946.  At 
Rice  twenty-one  seniors  who 
were  still  in  the  program  received 
Bachelor  of  Science  degrees  in 
naval  science  in  the  June  gradua- 
tion ceremonies.  The  Naval 
ROTC  program  continued  on  a 


peacetime  basis  thereafter  at  the 
Institute  and  was  joined  by  a  unit 
of  the  Army  ROTC  in  the  fall  of 
195 1.' 

Important  Changes  During 
the  War  Years 

World  War  II  was  not  the  only 
momentous  event  that  affected 
the  Institute  in  the  early  1940s. 
In  April  1941  Captain  James 
Baker  asked  two  of  his  firm's 
lawyers  to  determine  what  legal 
proceedings  would  be  necessary 
to  permit  the  charging  of  tuition. 
Baker  continued  to  be  troubled 
by  the  school's  financial  situa- 
tion, and  when  the  alumni  fund 
drive  and  appeals  to  Houstonians 
for  support  brought  in  only  a 
small  amount,  the  board  chair- 
man saw  little  chance  of  increas- 
ing income  enough  to  cover  ever- 
rising  expenses  without  the  relief 
that  tuition  might  provide.  His 
lawyers  thought  the  court  would 
permit  tuition  charges  once  the 
Institute  had  clearly  demon- 
strated that  the  general  object  of 
the  trust  would  be  greatly  ham- 
pered and  in  part  defeated  unless 
the  change  was  made.  Baker  pre- 
sented his  firm's  opinion  to  the 
board,  recommending  that  the 
trustees  test  the  question  of  tui- 
tion in  court.  The  board  in  turn 
authorized  him  to  proceed  with 
the  matter  and  notify  them  in  ad- 
vance of  the  filing  of  the  suit. 
However,  the  suit  was  not  filed 
because  of  subsequent  events." 

May  1 941  marked  the  fiftieth 
anniversary  of  the  founding  of 
the  corporation,  the  William  M. 
Rice  Institute  for  the  Advance- 


136 


The  1940s 


mcnt  of  Literature,  Science  and 
Art.  The  hoard  held  a  special 
meeting  on  April  23  to  vote  to 
seek  renewal  of  the  charter,  as 
was  necessary  under  Texas  law. 
The  resolution  to  extend  the 
charter  for  another  fifty  years  was 
unanimously  adopted  and  filed 
with  the  Secretary  of  State. 

On  May  14,  1941,  Edgar  Odell 
Lovett  resigned  the  presidency  of 
the  Rice  Institute.  Citing  his  age 
(seventy)  as  his  reason,  he  asked 
to  be  relieved  of  the  duties  of  the 
office  that  he  had  held  since 
1907,  but  he  also  offered  to  carry 
on  until  a  successor  could  be 
found.  He  wished  to  retain  his 
membership  on  the  board.  The 
trustees  reluctantly  accepted 
Lovett 's  resignation  but  were 
happy  that  he  would  stay  until 
his  successor  assumed  office. 
When  the  new  president  took 
over,  Lovett  would  become  presi- 
dent emeritus;  of  course  he  would 
continue  as  a  trustee.  Dr.  Lovett 
and  the  board  probably  thought  it 
would  take  a  year  or  two  to  find  a 
new  president.  Instead,  it  was  to 
take  five.' 

On  August  I,  1 94 1,  the  man 
whom  William  Marsh  Rice  had 
designated  chairman  of  the  Board 
of  Trustees,  the  only  chairman 
the  Institute  had  had.  Captain 
lames  A.  Baker,  died  at  the  age  of 
eighty-five.  He  left  his  home, 
"The  Oaks,"  to  Rice  for  the  trust- 
ees to  use  as  they  saw  fit.  If  it 
was  sold,  the  proceeds  from  the 
sale  were  to  constitute  a  gift 
known  as  the  "lames  A.  Baker 
and  Alice  Graham  Baker  Be- 
quest," to  be  used  for  scholar- 
ships and  fellowships,  prizes,  or 
supplements  to  professors'  sal- 


aries. In  1 942  the  trustees  chose 
to  sell  the  home  to  the  M.  D.  An- 
derson Foundation  for  $62,000 
and  establish  four  scholarships 
for  undergraduates. 

One  event,  at  least,  amelio- 
rated the  financial  situation.  That 
fall,  oil  was  discovered  on  the 
Rice  lands  in  Louisiana  that  were 
part  of  the  original  endowment.' 


Postwar  Changes 

In  September  1946  the  Rice  Insti- 
tute opened  its  doors  on  a  purely 
civilian  basis  again,  but  it  was 
not  the  old  Institute  of  prewar 
days.  Some  extremely  important 
changes  had  occurred  at  the  high- 
est levels,  and  more  were  to  take 
place  on  the  student  level. 

Changes  began  with  the  Board 
of  Trustees.  When  Captain  Baker 
died  in  1941,  William  M.  Rice, 
Ir.,  was  elected  chairman  of  the 
board.  However,  the  trustees  did 
not  immediately  name  a  suc- 
cessor to  Baker's  place.  When 
they  did  not,  the  alumni  asso- 
ciation seized  the  opportunity 
to  lobby  for  a  Rice  alumnus  as 
trustee,  an  idea  popular  among 
the  alumni  since  at  least  1938.  In 
that  year  the  association  presi- 
dent, I.  M.  Wilford,  had  sent  the 
trustees  an  association  resolution 
calling  for  alumni  representation 
on  the  board.  Baker,  who  con- 
fused the  Association  of  Rice 
Alumni  with  the  R  Association 
in  his  letter,  replied  that  the 
number  of  trustees  was  fixed,  and 
since  there  no  vacancies,  the 
board  was  deferring  further  con- 
sideration on  the  request.  He 
added,  however,  that  the  trust- 


ees would  be  happy  to  confer 
with  any  committee  that  the 
alumni  might  form  to  discuss 
matters  pertaining  to  "Public  Re- 
lations, Athletics,  or  some  kind- 
red subject."  " 

In  1940  the  Public  Relations 
Committee  of  the  alumni  associ- 
ation met  with  the  board.  Con- 
sisting of  the  new  association 
president  Harvin  C.  Moore  along 
with  members  ].  Newton  Ray- 
zor,  F.  Fisher  Reynolds,  Carl  M. 
Knapp,  John  Schuhmacher,  and 
Henry  Oliver,  the  committee  re- 
quested again  that  the  board  se- 
riously consider  selecting  an 
alumnus  for  the  next  vacant  posi- 
tion. According  to  the  board  min- 
utes, Baker  stated  "that  it  was  his 
opinion,  that  should  a  vacancy 
occur  on  the  Board,  that  the 
Trustees  would  be  pleased  to  dis- 
cuss with  the  Committee  the  se- 
lection of  a  new  member  of  the 
Board,  .  .  .  that  the  Trustees  and 
the  Committee  were  working 
wholeheartedly  in  the  interest  of 
the  Institute,  and  the  Trustees 
will  always  be  happy  at  all  times 
to  confer  with  the  Committee  in 
respect  to  all  matters  affecting 
the  Institute."  The  minutes  for 
the  meeting  ended  with  a  state- 
ment of  harmony  and  satisfac- 
tion in  every  particular,  but 
appearances  were  deceiving. 
Trustee  A.  S.  Cleveland  later  told 
his  son-in-law,  William  A.  Kirk- 
land,  that  Baker  was  angry  about 
such  alumni  "interference"  in 
board  affairs.' 

By  1942,  with  the  vacant  board 
position  still  unfilled,  the  alumni 
association  did  not  wait  to  be 
asked  for  advice.  Its  Executive 
Board,  still  under  Moore's  presi- 


The  1940s 


137 


dency,  sent  the  trustees  another 
resolution  urging  that  an  alum- 
nus be  selected  for  the  position. 
They  accompanied  the  resolution 
with  a  list  of  six  candidates. 
Whether  or  not  the  trustees  con- 
sidered the  alumni  candidates 
is  unknown,  but  in  May  they 
elected  oilman  Harry  Clay  Hans- 
zen,  who  had  attended  the  Uni- 
versity of  Chicago  for  two  years." 

That  year  the  board  made  its 
first  venture  into  the  oil  business 
outside  of  the  inherited  Rice  land 
in  Louisiana.  County  ludge  Roy 
Hofheinz,  a  Rice  alumnus,  had  in 
his  court  the  disposition  of  the 
estate  of  the  late  W.  R.  Davis. 
Davis's  estate  included  half  of 
the  working  interest  in  oil  prop- 
erties and  other  leases  in  the  Rin- 
con  field  in  Starr  County  Texas. 
Because  of  indebtedness  amount- 
ing to  approximately  $5  million 
and  the  fifty  percent  tax  on  cor- 
porate profits,  no  corporation, 
including  the  Continental  Oil 
Company  (which  owned  the 
other  half  interest  and  operated 
the  field),  could  afford  to  pur- 
chase the  estate.  The  other  lease 
properties  comprised  the  Val- 
ley Pipe  Line  Company  (which 
owned  half  of  the  pipeline),  the 
Rincon  Pipe  Line  Company,  and 
half  of  the  Brownsville  Terminal. 

Endeavoring  to  settle  the  es- 
tate, the  judge  sought  a  purchaser 
who  would  be  exempt  from  the 
corporate  tax.  He  decided  that 
the  Rice  Institute  would  benefit 
best  from  ownership  of  the  oil 
properties.  He  then  approached 
George  R.  Brown  of  Brown  & 
Root,  who  was  a  Rice  alumnus, 
and  Harry  C.  Wiess,  one  of  the 
organizers  of  the  Humble  Oil 


Company,  to  go  before  the  Rice 
board  with  him  and  propose  that 
the  Institute  purchase  the  prop- 
erties. The  first  scheme  of  pur- 
chase called  for  a  cash  outlay  of 
$547,000  by  friends  of  Rice  who 
would  then  give  the  properties, 
subject  to  the  remaining  indebt- 
edness, to  the  Institute.  The 
trustees,  on  advice  of  counsel,  de- 
cided that  such  a  plan  would  be 
acceptable  under  the  charter,  but 
the  banks  to  whom  the  debts 
were  owed  insisted  on  a  mini- 
mum of  $1  million  in  cash  be- 
fore they  would  agree  to  such  a 
purchase. 

Everyone  connected  with  the 
deal  was  confident  of  raising 
the  first  half  million;  they  had 
planned  to  do  that  anyway.  The 
other  half  million,  however, 
would  be  more  difficult.  It  would 
have  to  come  from  the  Institute 
itself,  even  though  its  charter 
stated  that  the  trustees  were  "ex- 
pressly forbidden  ever  to  permit 
any  lien,  encumbrance,  debt  or 
mortgage  to  be  placed  upon  any 
of  the  property,  or  funds,  belong- 
ing now,  or  that  may  hereafter 
belong  to  the  said  Institute;  .  .  . 
that  the  entire  property  of  the  In- 
stitute shall  always  be  kept  free 
from  debt.'""  The  trustees  never- 
theless voted  to  make  the  invest- 
ment in  the  oil  field  and  supply 
the  half  million  needed.  So  that 
no  question  could  be  raised  about 
the  propriety  of  their  action,  a 
suit  was  brought  in  district  court 
against  the  attorney  general  for 
authorization  of  the  investment. 
The  court  empowered  the  trust- 
ees to  make  the  purchase  with 
donated  money  and  the  Insti- 
tute's funds  and  further  autho- 


rized them  to  make  investments 
of  a  like  kind  and  character  m 
the  future.  The  trustees  could 
thereby  diversify  the  Institute's 
investments,  no  longer  limited  to 
those  types  of  first  mortgage 
loans  and  bonds  that  had  charac- 
terized the  cautious  investments 
of  the  Baker  board.  In  addition, 
the  court  allowed  the  trustees  to 
add  to  the  endowment  or  treat  as 
income  the  net  proceeds  from  the 
Rincon  investment. 

Rice  ultimately  purchased 
29/64  of  the  Davis  interest  in  the 
Rincon  field.  Of  the  donations 
from  friends  of  Rice,  $200,000 
was  donated  by  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
George  R.  Brown,  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Herman  Brown,  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
W.  S.  Parish,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  S.  P. 
Parish,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Hugh  R. 
Cullen,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  H.  C. 
Wiess,  and  Mr.  Harry  C.  Hans- 
zen.  The  remaining  $300,000 
came  from  the  M.  D.  Anderson 
Poundation  with  the  understand- 
ing that  the  Institute  would,  with 
the  profits  from  the  investment, 
construct  a  library  or  other  build- 
ing in  memory  of  Mr.  Anderson 
(one  of  the  four  original  partners 
in  Anderson,  Clayton),  as  soon  as 
sufficient  net  oil  revenues  had 
been  collected.  The  Rincon  in- 
vestment turned  out  to  be  ex- 
tremely profitable.  Debts  owed  to 
the  banks  were  paid  from  profits 
by  1946,  and  by  1978  the  Insti- 
tute was  some  $35  million 
richer.'" 

In  October  1942,  while  the 
board  was  still  working  on  the 
Rincon  purchase,  trustee  Robert 
Lee  Blaffer  died.  To  take  his 
place,  the  board  elected  George 
R.  Brown  in  January  1943.  Brown 


138 


The  1940s 


'  ^y^r^../, 


v/. .  / 


■  rtr.. 


SOL'HT  ■'^     K'^'i^l     Co 


105.  The  signing  ceremony  marking  Rice's  purchase  of  interest  in  the  Rmcon  Oil  Field.  December  iS.  1942.  Standing, 
left  to  right:  A.  S.  Cleveland,  Tom  Davis,  C,  A,  Dwyer,  Palmer  Hutcheson,  John  Freeman,  fames  E.  Elkins.  County 
Judge  Roy  Hofheinz,  A.  H.  Fulhright,  [ohn  Q.  Weatherly  Harrv  Hanszcn.  Seated:  lames  L.  Shepherd,  fr.,  Beniamin 
Botts  Rice,  folm  T.  Scott. 


was  the  first  alumnus  on  the 
board,  although  he  had  not  gradu- 
ated from  the  Institute,  having 
left  to  join  the  Marines  in  World 
War  I  and  afterward  having  com- 
pleted his  college  education  at 
the  Colorado  School  of  Mmes. 

In  July  1944  chairman  William 
M.  Rice,  Jr.,  died  after  forty-five 


years  on  the  board.  Philanthropy 
must  have  run  in  the  Rice  family, 
for  this  William  Marsh  Rice  also 
left  the  bulk  of  his  estate,  approx- 
imately $2  million,  to  the  Insti- 
tute. His  successor  as  trustee  was 
Harry  C.  Wiess,  like  Blaffer  a 
Humble  oilman,  and  like  Brown 
one  of  the  "friends  of  Rice"  who 


had  helped  with  the  Rineon 
purchase.  lohn  T.  Scott  became 
chairman.  " 

By  194  s  the  board  was  ready  to 
consider  plans  for  the  future  of 
the  Institute.  The  Rice  alumni 
association's  Executive  Board, 
headed  by  Carl  M.  Knapp,  had 
written  the  previous  year  to  urge 


The  1940s 


139 


that  the  facuhy,  curriculum,  and 
physical  plant  be  improved;  that 
the  Board  of  Trustees  determine 
what  legal  steps  would  be  neces- 
sary in  order  to  charge  tuition; 
and  that  the  board  employ  an  per- 
son whose  sole  duty  would  be  to 
raise  money  for  the  Institute. 
Also  in  that  year  Brown  and 
Hanszen  requested  and  received 
from  President  Lovett  a  three- 
page  memorandum  concerning 
the  development  of  the  Institute 
and  early  decisions  regardmg  its 
educational  program.  Except  for 
the  information  provided  by  Lov- 
ett, the  board  had  only  a  vague 
picture  of  such  matters  as  enroll- 
ment in  the  various  disciplines, 
past  university  costs,  and  future 
needs.'" 

The  Humble  Oil  and  Refining 
Company,  of  which  Wiess  was 
president,  had  just  completed  a 
survey  of  its  own  history;  and 
when  Wiess  became  a  trustee,  he 
suggested  that  Rice  do  the  same. 
With  the  W.  M.  Rice  gift,  the  oil 
income  from  the  Louisiana  lands, 
and  the  future  income  from  Rin- 
con  all  to  be  invested,  the  board 
needed  some  idea  of  where  the 
money  was  going  and  the  di- 
rection in  which  the  Institute 
should  go.  In  February  1945  the 
trustees  established  three  com- 
mittees to  work  out  a  program. 
Wiess,  B.  B.  Rice,  Brown,  and 
Lovett  formed  the  Survey  Com- 
mittee, which  was  charged  with 
an  analysis  of  past  developments, 
present  status,  and  future  out- 
look for  the  Institute  along  with 
its  financial  and  educational  af- 
fairs. On  the  Finance  Committee 
for  the  purchase  of  securities 
were  Brown,  Hanszen,  and  Cleve- 


land. The  Loan  Committee, 
which  handled  real  estate  loans, 
consisted  of  Scott,  Rice,  Cleve- 
land, and  Lovett. '- 

Under  Wiess's  direction,  the 
survey  covered  a  number  of 
aspects  of  the  university's  experi- 
ence from  1929  to  1943:  enroll- 
ment by  classes,  gender,  and 
division;  degrees  awarded;  fac- 
ulty and  faculty  compensation; 
educational  expense  per  year  and 
per  student;  income  and  expendi- 
tures; and  financial  resources. 
Some  interesting  information 
came  to  light  in  this  survey.  Rice 
was  not  simply  the  engineering 
school  that  many  thought  it  was. 
Throughout  the  entire  period,  49 
percent  of  the  students  had  been 
registered  in  the  liberal  arts 
school  (which  included  the  pure 
sciences  and  mathematics)  and 
33.7  percent  in  engineering  and 
architecture.  The  remaining  17 
percent  were  enrolled  in  physical 
education,  premedical,  and  gradu- 
ate programs.  Engineering,  how- 
ever, was  growing  rapidly  even 
before  the  advent  of  the  Navy 
curriculum,  with  the  proportion 
of  men  enrolled, increasing  from 
36  percent  in  1929  to  50  percent 
in  1 941.  Mechanical  and  chemi- 
cal engineering  accounted  for  the 
increase;  civil  and  electrical  engi- 
neering were  in  decline.  Of  the 
3,421  degrees  awarded  from  1930 
to  1943,  2,246  were  Bachelor  of 
Arts  degrees,  959  Bachelor  of  Sci- 
ence, and  216  advanced  degrees. 
While  total  enrollment  had  been 
kept  at  around  1,400  per  year,  the 
number  of  women  had  been  de- 
creasing, especially  in  the  pre- 
vious six  years.  During  this  time 
the  number  of  faculty  members 


had  declined  from  73  to  s  S,  al- 
though before  the  war  started, 
there  had  been  64  faculty  mem- 
bers. The  decline  in  staff  was 
mostly  in  mathematics,  lan- 
guages, and  history,  while  the  en- 
gineering faculty  had  increased  in 
size.  Faculty  compensation  had 
remained  relatively  constant 
through  the  fourteen  years,  at  an 
average  of  $3,300  to  $3,700  per 
year.  The  base  rate  of  pay  was 
$2,000  to  $3,000  for  instructors, 
$3,000  to  $3,750  for  assistant 
professors,  and  $3,500  to  $8,000 
for  professors.  In  their  prelimi- 
nary survey  report  the  committee 
remarked,  "It  is  probable  that  the 
uniformity  in  salary  rate  and  lack 
of  advancement  over  a  period  of 
years  had  exerted  an  adverse  in- 
fluence on  the  faculty."  Cost  per 
student  had  decreased  from  $399 
to  1929  to  $332  in  1942  as  the 
total  annual  operating  expenses 
of  the  Institute  had  decreased  in 
that  period  from  $499,000  to 
$384,000.  Income  from  invest- 
ments had  likewise  decreased 
from  $734,000  to  $650,000." 

"It  is  the  recommendation  of 
this  committee,"  the  final  report 
stated,  "that  Rice  Institute  con- 
tinue the  basic  program  that  it 
has  developed  since  1912."  The 
committee  called  for  a  well- 
rounded  and  balanced  program  in 
all  fields,  for  expansion  of  the 
faculty,  and  for  efforts  to  secure 
more  financial  support.  Espe- 
cially critical  would  be  the  selec- 
tion of  the  next  president  of  the 
Institute,  who  would  have  to  ad- 
minister the  expanded  activities 
and  attract  people  of  ability  to 
the  faculty.  The  financial  outlook 
was  optimistic.  When  the  debt 


140 


The  19405 


against  Rincon  was  paid,  Rice  in- 
terest in  the  field  was  estimated 
to  be  worth  at  least  S8  million  on 
the  basis  of  3.5  percent  interest. 
At  that  rate  of  return,  the  income 
available  after  providing  for 
maintenance  of  capital  would  be 
about  $280,000  a  year,  which  was 
equal  to  more  than  40  percent  of 
the  average  annual  income  from 
all  Institute  investments  from 
1937  to  1943.  The  Rincon  in- 
come, plus  that  from  the  W.  M. 
Rice  gift  and  from  the  Louisiana 
oil  lands,  would  enable  the  In- 
stitute to  increase  its  expendi- 
tures for  educational  purposes  by 
more  than  50  percent  compared 
with  the  budget  immediately 
before  the  war.  For  example, 
the  committee  estimated  that 
$625,000  would  be  available  for 
the  school  after  1947,  compared 
with  average  yearly  expenditures 
of  $390,000  for  the  period  1938  to 
1943.  "This  will  make  possible 
carrying  out  a  number  of  im- 
provements that  will  strengthen 
the  Institute,"  the  committee 
concluded." 


The  Trustees' 
Long-Range  Plan 

One  of  the  most  momentous 
developments  in  the  history  of 
the  Institute  was  the  long-range 
plan  that  the  Board  of  Trustees 
adopted  in  194s-  This  ambitious 
program,  perhaps  more  than  any 
other,  laid  the  groundwork  for 
the  Institute's  metamorphosis 
from  a  school  of  mainly  regional 
reputation  to  a  university  with 
national  standing.  The  long- 
range  plan  would  encompass  aca- 


demic objectives,  an  extensive 
building  program,  and  expansion 
of  the  faculty  and  facilities,  as 
well  as  a  program  of  outreach 
into  the  community. 

The  foremost  objective  of  the 
plan  was  academic  devek)pment: 
the  Institute  would  continue  to 
provide  especially  good  training 
for  a  limited  number  of  students 
through  a  broad  and  sound  basic 
program,  to  set  a  high  standard  of 
scholarship,  and  to  provide  lead- 
ership in  higher  education.  The 
curriculum  would  also  be  well 
developed,  with  expansion  in  arts 
and  letters,  although  the  empha- 
sis would  remain  on  science  and 
research.  To  help  achieve  these 
objectives,  the  trustees  would 
look  for  aid  from  well-qualified 
individuals  not  directly  con- 
nected with  the  board  and  would 
create  committees  for  the  various 
phases  of  the  Institute's  affairs 
staffed  partly  with  these  "out- 
siders." No  longer  would  the 
board  consist  primarily  of  older 
men;  provision  would  be  made 
for  the  position  of  trustee  emer- 
itus after  trustees  had  reached  a 
certain  age.  The  educational  ad- 
ministrative hierarchy  of  presi- 
dent, deans,  and  other  officers 
was  to  maintain  a  close  relation- 
ship with  faculty  and  students; 
written  into  the  plan  was  the 
stipulation  that  administrative 
officers  teach  some  classes. 

The  substantial  building  pro- 
gram included  plans  for  a  library, 
classrooms,  laboratories,  dor- 
mitories, and  a  house  for  the 
president.  Concerning  the  fac- 
ulty, the  trustees  wanted  people 
of  the  highest  ability  and  a  lower 
ratio  of  students  to  faculty  (ten 


to  one  instead  of  the  existing  fif- 
teen or  twenty  to  one).  To  attract 
and  maintain  an  illustrious  fac- 
ulty, the  university  would  estab- 
lish a  salary  scale  competitive 
with  other  leading  educational 
institutions. 

As  the  faculty  expanded,  so 
would  the  curriculum,  including 
diversified  graduate  and  research 
work.  For  the  latter,  graduate  fel- 
lowships and  scholarships  would 
be  created.  The  program  did  not 
call  for  an  enlarged  student  body, 
just  a  return  to  the  prewar  enroll- 
ment of  about  1,400.  It  also  did 
not  specify  how  many  graduate 
students  there  should  be;  from 
1929  to  1943,  the  average  number 
was  58.  Careful  selection  would 
remain  the  rule  for  admission,  in 
order  to  maintain  high  educa- 
tional standards. 

Finally,  while  the  trustees  rec- 
ognized that  current  assets  and 
income  might  be  inadequate  for 
full  attainment  of  their  goals, 
they  were  undertaking  the  pro- 
gram in  the  belief  that  the  public 
would  recognize  the  value  of 
these  objectives  to  the  commu- 
nity, state,  and  nation  and  would 
help  the  Institute  to  complete  its 
plans." 

Once  the  development  plan 
had  been  formulated,  and  in 
some  cases  even  before  a  particu- 
lar segment  had  crystallized,  the 
board  started  working  toward 
its  goals.  By  November  Wiess 
could  tell  the  Association  of  Rice 
Alumni  that  members  of  the  fac- 
ulty had  been  promoted  and  that 
salary  adjustments  had  been 
made.  Without  waiting  to  con- 
clude plans  for  financing,  the 
trustees  commissioned  the  local 


The  1940s 


141 


firm  of  Staub  and  Rather  as  archi- 
tects for  a  library  building,  with 
William  Ward  Watkin  as  consul- 
tant. Preliminary  estimates  indi- 
cated that  the  cost  of  the  building 
as  envisioned  would  be  over  $1 
million,  and  Wiess  mentioned  to 
alumni  that  the  trustees  would 
welcome  and  appreciate  their 
support.  Indeed,  Wiess  empha- 
sized the  need  for  their  help  for 
the  realization  of  all  the  Insti- 
tute's newly  articulated  goals. '^ 

A  President  to  Succeed 
Edgar  O.  Lovett 

Selecting  a  new  president  took 
more  time  than  choosing  a  li- 
brary architect.  Between  1941 
and  1945,  the  board  had  consid- 
ered at  least  twenty  possible 
candidates,  including  Lee  A.  Du- 
Bridge,  a  physicist  who  took  the 
presidency  at  the  California  Insti- 
tute of  Technology,  William  C. 
Devane,  a  dean  at  Yale  Univer- 
sity, and  John  C.  Slater,  a  physics 
professor  at  the  Massachusetts 
Institute  of  Technology.  Of  those 
mentioned.  President  Lovett  was 
most  interested  in  the  two  physi- 
cists and  preferred  getting  "a 
young  scholar  on  the  way  to  a 
sound  reputation."  For  various 
reasons,  the  wartime  search  had 
been  unsuccessful.  Many  of  the 
leading  scientists  had  been  en- 
gaged in  war  work,  and  none  of 
the  others  had  proved  suitable. '~ 
As  the  war  wound  down,  and 
even  before  the  preliminary  sur- 
vey was  completed,  the  trustees 
discussed  their  search  with  the 
faculty.  If  alumni  could  help  with 
financial  matters,  faculty  could 


help  with  the  selection  of  their 
next  president.  On  April  10, 
194s,  the  trustees  gave  a  dinner 
for  the  faculty  at  Cohen  House, 
at  which  John  Scott  addressed  the 
question  after  explaining  the  fi- 
nancial prospects  of  the  univer- 
sity and  some  improvements 
being  contemplated.  The  trustees 
knew  what  they  wanted  in  a 
president,  "(i)  He  must  be  a  man 
of  excellent  character,  with  an 
established  reputation.  (2)  He 
should  have  had  experience  m 
teaching,  the  ability  to  lead  and 
inspire  confidence,  and  the  per- 
sonality to  deal  with  people.  (3) 
He  should  have  a  scientific  train- 
ing, but  with  a  sufficiently  broad 
background  and  attitude  to  give 
appreciation  to  all  the  needs 
of  a  well-balanced  educational 
program.'"" 

The  trustees  wanted  the  fac- 
ulty to  select  a  temporary  com- 
mittee of  three  members  to  be 
available  to  consult  with  them, 
to  analyze  the  qualifications  of 
the  candidates,  and  to  furnish  in- 
formation about  them.  So  that 
there  would  be  no  misunder- 
standing, Scott  also  stated  that 
the  final  choice  was  the  responsi- 
bility of  the  board.  "This  is  not 
the  type  of  matter  that  can  be 
handled  by  a  majority  vote,  but  it 
is  one  in  which  the  best  advice 
and  counsel  of  all  parties  con- 
cerned needs  to  be  taken  into  ac- 
count," he  said."' 

Four  days  later  the  faculty  met 
and  elected  three  members  for 
the  committee.  Alan  McKillop 
would  represent  the  humanities, 
George  H.  Richter  the  pure  sci- 
ences, and  Lewis  B.  Ryon  the 
applied  sciences.  They  agreed 


completely  with  the  board's 
requirements  for  a  president, 
adding  their  thoughts  that  the  In- 
stitute would  be  best  served  also 
by  a  man  "who  has  had  a  sub- 
stantial part  of  his  training  and 
experience  in  a  university  having 
a  comparable  well-rounded  pro- 
gram .  .  .  ,  rather  than  by  a  man 
from  an  institution  centered  en- 
tirely about  pure  and  applied 
science."  They  also  wanted  a 
president  with  "an  interest  in  the 
practical  problems  of  educational 
administration"  and  with  demon- 
strated ability  in  handling  the  sit- 
uations that  arose  in  the  daily  life 
of  a  university."" 

Harry  Wiess,  George  Brown, 
and  B.  B.  Rice  made  up  the  board 
committee  that  did  the  actual 
work  of  searching,  but  it  was 
Wiess  who  traveled,  interviewed, 
and  gathered  information  on  pos- 
sible candidates.  The  trustees 
used  every  avenue  they  could  to 
find  their  man.  Old  friends  and 
new  acquaintances  suggested 
names,  evaluated  personalities, 
and  offered  advice.  A  query  to  the 
Navy  produced  an  outstanding 
recommendation  for  one  candi- 
date, along  with  the  admonition 
that,  if  Rice  wanted  him,  he 
would  be  available  only  after  V-J 
Day.  The  trustees  had  some  ex- 
cellent possibilities  to  consider, 
but  it  must  have  been  frustrating 
to  have  men  like  Philip  M.  Morse 
of  MIT  and  James  Fisk  of  the  Bell 
Laboratories  take  themselves  out 
of  the  running. 

Whenever  a  candidate  said  no, 
Wiess  had  a  friend  or  acquaint- 
ance of  the  candidate  sound  him 
out  a  day  or  two  later  to  be  sure 
that  his  mind  was  really  made 


142 


The  1940s 


up.  One  man  to  whom  the  trust- 
ees returned  after  he  stated  that 
he  did  not  want  to  undertake  an 
exclusively  administrative  job 
was  William  V.  Houston  (pro- 
nounced "how-ston")  of  the  Cal- 
ifornia Institute  of  Technology.  A 
physicist,  Dr.  Houston  had  re- 
ceived unqualified  recommenda- 
tions but  had  been  somewhat 
overshadowed,  at  least  in  Wiess's 
notes  of  his  recruiting  activities, 
by  a  couple  of  other  candidates. 
By  November  1945,  however, 
when  the  trustees  still  had  not 
found  a  president  (and  possibly 
because  the  faculty  liked  Hous- 
ton), Wiess  again  approached  the 
Californian,  this  time  with  an  in- 
vitation to  come  to  the  campus. 
Regardless  of  whether  it  led  to  se- 
rious negotiations,  Wiess  told 
Houston,  the  visit  would  give 
the  trustees  a  chance  to  consult 
with  him  about  the  presidential 
search.  Houston  seemed  inter- 
ested, but  was  still  reluctant  to 
leave  research  and  teaching  and 
become  solely  an  administrator. 
Wiess  thought  that  arrangements 
could  be  made  for  the  president 
to  have  some  time  free  from  ad- 
ministrative duties. 

Dr.  and  Mrs.  Houston  visited 
the  campus  in  December,  and  the 
trustees  were  so  impressed  that 
they  offered  the  physicist  the 
position  on  December  8.  Hous- 
ton took  two  weeks  to  consider 
the  offer  and  replied  by  phone 
that  he  was  favorably  inclined. 
Before  making  a  final  decision, 
however,  he  wanted  to  set  forth 
his  views  on  various  matters  so 
that  he  and  the  trustees  would  be 
sure  they  understood  each  other. 
They  had  mentioned  moving  the 


business  office  of  the  histitute 
from  the  downtown  office  to  the 
campus;  Houston  thought  that 
highly  desirable,  since  it  was  the 
president's  duty  in  most  institu- 
tions to  prepare  and  present  the 
budget  to  the  trustees  and  then 
to  exercise  close  scrutiny  of  the 
disbursal  of  funds.  "Educational 
policy,  as  well  as  thrift,  must  de- 
termine the  way  in  which  the 
available  income  is  used,  for  the 
way  in  which  it  is  used  deter- 
mines the  extent  to  which  the  in- 
stitution is  deserving  of  local  and 
national  support,"  he  told  the 
board.  Houston  questioned  the 
appropriateness  of  a  prominent 
football  team  in  a  university  that 
wished  to  be  known  as  an  out- 
standing intellectual  center.  He 
thought  he  would  be  able  to  "get 
along  with  it,"  however,  if  the 
athletic  program's  enrollment 
were  held  to  the  existing  size  of 
about  one  hundred. 

Those  topics  out  of  the  way, 
Houston  then  concentrated  on 
academic  concerns.  First,  he  in- 
tended to  carry  on  research  and 
teaching  and  wanted  to  be  ap- 
pointed professor  of  physics  as 
well  as  president.  Second,  he 
wanted  to  continue  developing 
the  science  and  engineering  pro- 
grams, particularly  physics, 
chemistry,  and  the  engineering 
based  on  them,  "somewhat  to  the 
exclusion  of  other  fields."  Princi- 
pal expansion  in  graduate  in- 
struction and  research  should  be 
in  these  areas,  while  other  fields 
would  concentrate  on  the  under- 
graduate division.  He  expected  to 
make  additions  to  the  faculty,  not 
only  with  young  teachers  of  ini- 
tially low  rank  but  also  with  two 


or  three  men  of  distinction.  Lead- 
ers in  their  fields  would  attract 
young  instructors  of  the  highest 
quality  and  make  the  Institute's 
objectives  clear,  but  they  would 
also  be  expensive,  he  warned. 
For  the  older  faculty,  Houston 
wanted  to  initiate  a  retirement 
plan  providing  for  compulsory  re- 
tirement at  a  definite  age.  Finally, 
to  deal  with  the  isolation  of  Rice 
from  other  intellectual  centers, 
Houston  proposed  encouraging 
the  faculty  with  some  financial 
assistance  to  travel  to  scholarly 
meetings  and  to  study  elsewhere, 
and  bringing  in  distinguished 
lecturers  for  periods  of  several 
weeks. 

On  December  ^i,  194s,  the 
board  expressed  its  accord  with 
each  of  Dr.  Houston's  points. 
H.  C.  Wiess  called  Houston  to 
tell  him  so,  and  Houston  ac- 
cepted the  offer  to  become  the 
second  president  of  the  Rice  In- 
stitute. He  planned  to  assume  his 
duties  on  March  i,  1946,  and 
seemed  willing  to  accept  Wiess's 
word  "that  while  the  situation  re- 
garding the  athletic  program  at 
the  Institute  may  not  be  ideal.  .  . 
It  is  basically  sound  and  in  excel- 
lent hands  under  less  Neely."  The 
terms  of  employment  included  a 
salary  of  $20,000  a  year  and  a 
house  still  to  be  built.'" 

On  lanuary  4,  1946,  the  day 
after  they  announced  the  selec- 
tion of  a  new  president,  the  trust- 
ees met  to  make  significant 
changes  in  their  own  organiza- 
tion. It  was  clear  at  the  time  of 
the  announcement  of  the  long- 
range  program  in  luly  194  s  that 
all  board  members  would  have  to 
devote  long  hours  overseeing  its 


The  1940s 


143 


completion  and  that  it  would  be 
advantageous  to  the  Institute  if 
younger  men  replaced  some  of 
the  older  members.  Not  all  of  the 
older  members  wanted  to  give  up 
their  positions,  but  they  capitu- 
lated to  the  majority  opinion. 
Since  the  board  did  not  want  to 
cut  itself  off  from  its  past  experi- 
ence, the  reorganization  included 
the  creation  of  an  emeritus  posi- 
tion for  trustees.  Some  members 
(Rice,  Lovett,  Scott,  and  Cleve- 
land) could  have  retired  at  that 
time,  but  the  other  trustees 
asked  that  they  stay  on  until  a 
new  president  was  selected.  The 
beginning  of  the  new  year  and 
Dr.  Houston's  acceptance  of  the 
presidency  provided  an  appropri- 
ate opportunity  for  change. 

First  the  bylaws  of  the  Insti- 
tute were  amended  to  permit  any 
trustee  over  the  age  of  seventy  to 
resign  and  be  elected  trustee 
emeritus.  Trustees  emeriti  could 
attend  all  meetings,  advise,  and 
express  their  views,  but  they 
would  have  no  vote.  B.  B.  Rice, 
A.  S.  Cleveland,  E.  O.  Lovett,  and 
[.  T  Scott  then  tendered  their  res- 
ignations, and  in  their  places 
were  elected  Gus  S.  Wortham, 
William  A.  Kirkland,  Frederick  R. 
Lummis,  M.D.,  and  Lamar  Flem- 
ing, Jr.  Harry  Hanszen  was 
elected  chairman.  The  new  board 
then  adopted  a  resolution  of  ap- 
preciation for  the  contributions 
of  the  retiring  members.  Rice  had 
been  on  the  board  since  1901, 
Lovett  since  1910,  Scott  since 
191 3,  and  Cleveland  since  1922. 

Of  the  new  members,  Wortham 
was  president  of  the  American 
General  Insurance  Company  and 
had  connections  with  other  busi- 


nesses as  well;  Kirkland,  A.  S. 
Cleveland's  son-in-law,  was  a 
banker  with  the  First  National 
Bank  of  Houston,-  Lummis  was 
physician-in-chief  at  Hermann 
Hospital  and  professor  of  clinical 
medicine  at  Baylor  College  of 
Medicine  (the  first  academic  be- 
sides Lovett  to  serve  on  the 
board);  and  Fleming  was  presi- 
dent of  Anderson,  Clayton  &  Co., 
whose  founders  had  been  gener- 
ous supporters  of  the  university 
in  its  early  years.'" 

This  new  board  was  busy  from 
the  first,  revamping  investments 
for  a  higher  yield,  reorganizing 
accounting  procedures  to  follow 
current  methods  for  colleges,  and 
helping  the  new  president  where 
it  could.  When  debts  on  the  Rin- 
con  property  were  paid  off  in 
1947,  total  net  assets  of  the  Insti- 
tute were  more  than  $29  million. 
The  trustees  had  received  more 
good  financial  news  before  the 
1947  accounting,  however.  In 
June  1946  Ella  F.  Fondren,  widow 
of  Humble  oilman  W  W  Fon- 
dren, contributed  $1  million  to 
the  Institute  for  the  construction 
of  a  library  building.  In  October 
of  that  year,  Harry  Wiess  gave 
Rice  the  income  from  30,000 
shares  of  Humble  Oil  stock  for 
seventeen  and  one-half  years,  to 
be  used  for  current  operating  ex- 
penses. Afterward,  the  stock  was 
to  go  to  his  children.  At  the  time 
of  the  donation.  Rice  hoped  to  re- 
ceive about  $1  million  from 
Wiess's  gift;  the  eventual  sum 
was  more  than  $4  million.  The 
following  March,  James  S.  Aber- 
crombie  (an  oilman  and  a  founder 
of  Cameron  Iron  Works),  his  wife 
Lillie,  and  their  daughter  Jose- 


phine (Rice  '46)  gave  $500,000  for 
an  engineering  laboratory  build- 
ing. The  economic  picture  was 
bright  indeed." 


President  Houston 
Takes  Office 

Rice's  new  president  arrived  on 
campus  in  March  1946.  William 
Vermillion  Houston  was  born  in 
Mt.  Gilead,  Ohio,  on  January  19, 
1900.  He  attended  Ohio  State 
University  for  Bachelor  of  Arts 
and  Bachelor  of  Science  degrees 
in  education  and  graduated  in 
1920  with  membership  in  Phi 
Beta  Kappa  and  Sigma  Xi.  He  re- 
ceived a  Master  of  Science  degree 
from  the  University  of  Chicago 
in  1922  and  returned  to  Ohio 
State  for  his  doctorate,  which  he 
received  in  1925.  He  had  been  a 
National  Research  Council  fel- 
low at  the  California  Institute  of 
Technology,  a  Guggenheim  fel- 
low, and  a  member  of  the  faculty 
at  Cal  Tech  since  1927,  having 
been  made  full  professor  in  1931. 
He  was  the  author  of  Principles 
of  Mathematical  Physics  and 
many  scientific  articles,  and  dur- 
ing the  war  he  had  conducted  re- 
search for  the  Office  of  Scientific 
Research,  concentrating  espe- 
cially on  antisubmarine  devices 
and  torpedo  designs." 

Official  inauguration  cere- 
monies for  Houston  were  held  on 
April  ID,  1947.  This  was  the  first 
presidential  inauguration  at  Rice. 
Edgar  Odell  Lovett  had  never 
been  formally  inaugurated;  the 
1912  ceremonies  that  opened  the 
school  were  formal  ceremonies  of 
dedication.  Like  those  first  cere- 


144 


The  19408 


106,  William  Vermillion  Houstun,  the  secunJ  president  of  the  Rice  Institute. 


monies,  the  1947  inaugural  fes- 
tivities were  held  outdoors,  but 
this  time  in  front  of  the  Chemis- 
try Building  at  eleven  o'clock  in 
the  mornmg.  They  were  kept 
simple  and  dignified.  Agam  came 
the  procession  of  delegates,  in- 
cludmg  twenty-seven  college 
presidents  and  various  dignitaries 
from  foreign  institutions.  Again 
the  singing  of  "Veni  Creator  Spir- 
itus"  opened  the  solemnities,  al- 
though "America"  closed  the 
program  in  place  of  the  "One 
Hundredth  Psalm."  Karl  T  Comp- 
ton,  president  of  the  Massachu- 
setts Institute  of  Technology, 
delivered  an  address  entitled 
"Dynamic  Education,"  and  Harry 
C.  Wiess  as  vice-chairman  of  the 


trustees  inducted  Houston  into 
the  office  of  president.  After  the 
inauguration  ceremony  came 
lunch  in  the  Commons  in  honor 
of  the  delegates,  where  Lee  A. 
DuBridge,  president  of  the  Cal- 
ifornia Institute  of  Technology, 
spoke. 

Following  an  afternoon  recep- 
tion for  the  delegates  at  Cohen 
House,  there  was  a  dinner  in 
honor  of  the  new  president  and 
his  wife.  Addressing  the  group  on 
behalf  of  the  alumni  was  Carl  M. 
Knapp,  president  of  the  Associa- 
tion of  Rice  Alumni,  and  on 
behalf  of  the  people  of  Texas, 
Houston  power  broker  Jesse  H. 
(ones.  Dr.  Dixon  Wecter,  chair- 
man of  the  Research  Group  at  the 


Huntington  Library,  then  pre- 
sented a  paper  entitled  "The  Lone 
Star  and  the  Constellation." 
While  not  the  marathon  of  the 
opening,  it  was  a  full  day." 

Edgar  Odell  Lovett  became 
president  emeritus  upon  Hous- 
ton's accession  to  the  presi- 
dency, and  in  December  1947  the 
Administration  Building  was  re- 
named "Lovett  Hall"  with  the  in- 
scription, "He  has  reared  a  monu- 
ment more  lasting  than  brass." 
Lovett  continued  to  occupy  an  of- 
fice in  the  building,  although  he 
moved  down  from  the  top  floor 
to  a  somewhat  more  accessible 
location  on  the  third  floor.'' 

Many  people  have  said  that 
William  Vermillion  Houston  was 
the  perfect  man  to  follow  Edgar 
Odell  Lovett  as  president  of  the 
Rice  Institute.  Interested  in  the 
same  scholastic  qualities,  Hous- 
ton emphasized  high  standards, 
sound  scholarship,  and  good 
teaching.  "We  aim  to  be  a  small 
university,  small  in  total  number 
of  people  and  small  in  that  we 
confine  our  efforts  to  restricted 
fields  largely  of  the  traditional 
university  variety,"  he  said.  "We 
are  firmly  dedicated  to  the  propo- 
sition that  size  and  excellence  are 
not  synonymous.  In  fact,  we  be- 
lieve that  we  pursue  excellence 
better  in  a  small  institution  than 
some  can  in  institutions  much 
larger.  Private  institutions  can 
help  to  lead  the  way  in  the  qual- 
ity of  education.  This,  I  hope,  the 
Rice  Institute  can  do."  While  his 
own  interest  lay  principally  in 
science  and  its  application  to  en- 
gineering, he  also  knew  the  value 
of  humanistic  studies.  He  wanted 
a  balanced  education  for  Rice 


The  1940s 


145 


107.  Dedication  ceremonies  renaming  the  Administration  Building  "Lovett  Hall,"  December  4,  i947-  Left  to  right: 
Harry  C.  Wiess,  Lamar  Fleming.  Jr.,  Harry  Hanszen.  President  Emeritus  Lovett,  William  A.  Kirkland,  George  R. 
Brown.  President  Houston.  Gus  Wortham.  Or  Frederick  Rice  Lummis. 


students,  both  in  introspective 
thought  and  the  world  of  words 
and  in  material  phenomena." 

President  Houston  must  have 
been  a  pleasant  surprise  to  the 
faculty  when  he  took  office.  For 
years  the  Institute  had  run  on  the 
same  track  with  few  changes  in 
procedure  or  personnel,  espe- 


cially in  administration.  To  get 
things  done  on  campus,  one  saw 
bursar  McCants,  registrar  Mc- 
Cann,  Dean  Weiser,  or  architect 
Watkin.  Seldom  did  a  professor 
bother  the  president  with  day-to- 
day details  or  even  have  any  con- 
tact with  him,  although  the 
courtly  Lovett  enjoyed  talking 


with  faculty  members  on  those 
occasions  when  they  did  come  to 
see  him.  Faculty  meetings  were 
few  and  far  between,  and  no  one 
seemed  eager  to  bring  up  matters 
at  them.  The  department  heads 
ran  their  departments,  the  bursar, 
registrar,  dean,  architect,  and 
president  ran  the  Institute  in  a 


146 


The  1940s 


gentlemanly,  low-key  fashion, 
and  that  was  that.  Dr.  Houston 
wanted  a  higher  profile.  During 
his  first  two  weeks  on  campus, 
he  visited  as  many  faculty  mem- 
bers in  their  offices  as  he  could, 
seeking  information  and  asking 
about  problems.  He  wanted  to 
know  his  faculty  personally.  He 
wanted  them  to  take  a  more  ac- 
tive role  on  campus. 

At  his  first  faculty  meeting  on 
March  16,  Houston  sketched  his 
plans  for  the  postwar  Institute. 
He  spoke  of  the  need  for  students 
to  have  a  balanced  education, 
with  the  provision  of  a  common 
core  of  basic  training  upon  which 
to  build  specialties.  The  building 
program  was  under  way,  so  relief 
was  in  sight  for  the  overcrowded 
classrooms  and  offices.  The  size 
of  the  student  body  was  to  be 
held  at  1,500  until  the  faculty 
was  much  larger  than  the  exist- 
ing number  (about  60).  Houston 
was  particularly  interested  in 
graduate  study  and  research;  to 
increase  graduate  enrollment  as 
quickly  as  possible,  he  had  per- 
sonally undertaken  preparation 
and  distribution  of  a  graduate 
bulletin  and  poster  indicating  the 
availability  of  graduate  fellow- 
ships. Since  it  took  money  to  at- 
tract students  of  high  quality  and 
to  compete  with  other  graduate 
schools,  Houston  announced  sti- 
pends available  of  up  to  $1,000, 
with  remission  of  all  fees. 

Whatever  the  quality  of  stu- 
dents, or  the  number  of  build- 
ings, or  the  victories  of  the  foot- 
ball team,  the  academic  standing 
and  reputation  of  a  university  de- 
pended on  its  faculty.  To  meet 
the  long-range  program's  goals. 


the  number  of  professors  had  to 
be  increased.  Houston  asked  the 
faculty  for  their  assistance  in 
nominating  possible  candidates 
and  investigating  suitable  people. 
He  did  not  expect  this  to  be  a 
quick  or  easy  task,  because  cer- 
tain special  qualities  were  re- 
quired. A  faculty  member  had  to 
be  an  outstanding  scholar:  a  pub- 
lishing scholar  if  in  the  human- 
ities, involved  in  research  if  in 
science,  recognized  by  others  if 
in  the  engineering  profession.  He 
had  to  be  an  inspiring  teacher 
and  recognize  that  teaching  was 
an  important  part  of  the  profes- 
sion. A  faculty  member  had  to  be 
"cooperative  and  helpful"  in  the 
administration  of  the  Institute. 
That  meant  serving  on  commit- 
tees, since  the  new  president 
wanted  the  faculty  to  take  over 
certain  quasi-administrative 
functions.  Finally,  a  faculty  mem- 
ber had  to  be  a  respected  citizen 
of  the  community.'" 

To  advise  on  appointments  to 
the  faculty  committees,  the  fac- 
ulty again  elected  Professors 
McKillop,  Richter,  and  Ryon. 
These  men  formed  the  first  Exec- 
utive Committee  along  with  the 
president  and  the  dean.  The  pur- 
pose of  the  various  committees 
was  to  deal  with  all  matters  per- 
taining to  educational  policy,  ad- 
ministration, and  student  life. 
The  president  appointed  the  com- 
mittees and  delegated  authority 
to  them.  Committees  considered 
matters  brought  to  them  by  fac- 
ulty or  students  and  applied  rules 
and  settled  cases  without  refer- 
ring details  to  the  whole  faculty 
for  approval.  New  rules,  policies, 
and  precedents,  however,  did  re- 


quire such  approval  at  regular 
faculty  meetings,  which  were  to 
be  held  twice  a  semester.  Also, 
individual  faculty  members  were 
specifically  given  the  power  to  in- 
troduce new  business  outside  the 
committee  structure  and  to  ap- 
peal committee  decisions  at  fac- 
ulty meetings. 

A  number  of  committees  were 
appointed,  most  of  them  reorgan- 
izations of  old  committees.  A 
few,  however,  were  new:  the 
Committee  on  Graduate  Instruc- 
tion with  Dr.  Houston  as  chair- 
man until  a  dean  of  graduate 
studies  was  named;  the  Commit- 
tee on  the  Library;  and  the  Com- 
mittee on  Student  Activities, 
which  would  be  chaired  by  a  new 
assistant  dean  for  student  activi- 
ties, Hugh  Scott  Cameron,  and 
which  would  include  student 
members.  The  Navy  Committee 
continued  to  operate  as  before,  as 
did  the  Committee  on  Outdoor 
Sports,  which  was  established  in 
the  Board  of  Trustees'  bylaws.'" 

As  had  been  obvious  in  nego- 
tiations for  the  presidency  and  in 
the  establishment  of  committee 
policy,  William  V.  Houston  did 
not  particularly  care  to  run  the 
school  by  himself.  It  has  been 
said  of  him  that  he  was  never 
truly  happy  unless  he  was  work- 
ing in  his  laboratory,  which  he 
had  installed  next  to  his  office  on 
the  second  floor  of  Lovett  Hall, 
close  to  the  Physics  Building. 
'Thysics,"  he  said,  "is  a  hobby 
I've  fortunately  been  able  to  pur- 
sue at  full  time  all  my  life." 

By  1949  Houston  had  devel- 
oped his  own  inimitable  style. 
Into  one  of  the  top  drawers  went 
almost  everything  that  came 


The  1940s 


147 


across  his  desk.  There  it  fer- 
mented for  a  week  or  two,  some- 
times longer.  After  a  while,  he 
would  call  in  his  assistant — a  ju- 
nior faculty  member  who  helped 
with  the  busy  work  of  the  admm- 
istration — and  clean  out  his 
drawer.  He  told  one  of  the  as- 
sistants that  he  called  the  drawer 
"administration,"  and  if  he  left 
things  in  there  long  enough, 
most  of  them  settled  themselves. 
What  was  left  he  divided  between 
himself  and  the  assistant.  He 
used  the  same  technique  on  the 
many  questionnaires  sent  by 
various  government  agencies, 
professional  organizations,  and 
others.  Houston  detested  ques- 
tionnaires. He  answered  only  the 
imperative  ones,  had  the  as- 
sistant handle  some  others,  and 
left  the  rest  to  sit,  maintaining 
that  if  one  waited  long  enough, 
the  inquirers  would  no  longer 
need  the  information,  anyway. 
Houston  was  never  guilty  of  the 
vice  of  administering  too  much.'" 

Changes  in  the  Curriculum 
and  Admissions 

The  first  task  of  the  newly  ap- 
pointed Executive  Committee 
was  to  consider  the  desirability  of 
revising  the  undergraduate  cur- 
riculum. Virtually  untouched 
since  its  original  formulation,  the 
curriculum  still  did  not  provide 
for  the  modern  concept  of  the 
"major"  and  required  only  four 
courses  in  each  of  the  junior  and 
senior  years  for  the  B.A.  degree. 
To  keep  in  step  with  develop- 
ments at  other  major  univer- 
sities, to  broaden  the  curriculum. 


to  give  the  students  more  experi- 
ences that  would  prepare  them 
for  the  outside  world  and  gradu- 
ate schools,  and  possibly  to  ex- 
tract more  productive  effort  from 
the  students,  the  Executive  Com- 
mittee decided  to  revise  the  cur- 
riculum. They  presented  a  new 
plan  to  the  faculty  in  July  1946. 
The  new  was  quite  a  departure 
from  the  old,  especially  for  the 
first  two  years  of  study,  because 
the  faculty  wanted  to  emphasize 
basic  subjects  such  as  English, 
mathematics,  history,  and  sci- 
ence, while  at  the  same  time 
deemphasizing  early  specializa- 
tion. With  this  in  mind,  two 
main  courses  of  study  were  cre- 
ated, academic  and  science- 
engineering,  each  having  its  own 
core  of  required  subjects.  When 
students  were  admitted,  they 
usually  leaned  toward  a  tentative 
major,  and  that  determined  their 
division  and  their  schedule  for 
the  first  two  years.  The  year-long 
courses  were  divided  into  three 
groups:  Group  A  was  languages 
and  literature;  B  was  history,  so- 
cial studies,  philosophy,  and  edu- 
cation; C  was  mathematics  and 
science.  Under  the  old  curricu- 
lum. Groups  A  and  B  had  been 
combined. 

First-year  academic  students 
were  required  to  take  Math  100, 
English  100,  French  or  German, 
American  or  European  history, 
and  a  choice  of  Physics  100, 
Chemistry  100,  or  Biology  100. 
Men  were  required  to  take  physi- 
cal training  for  one  year;  when 
the  gymnasium  was  completed 
in  1951,  the  women  also  had 
compulsory  physical  training 
classes.  Second-year  students 


took  either  Math  200  or  210  or  a 
science;  English  or  a  general  liter- 
ature elective;  a  second  year  of 
the  language  they  had  begun  in 
the  first  year;  a  Group  B  elective; 
and  a  free  elective. 

The  science-engineering  curric- 
ulum did  not  contain  as  many 
choices,  and  it  added  a  sixth 
course  to  each  year.  The  first- 
year  student  took  Math  100, 
Physics  100,  Chemistry  100,  En- 
glish 100,  American  or  European 
history,  and  engineering  drawing. 
The  second-year  student  took 
20o-level  courses  in  mathemat- 
ics, chemistry,  and  physics,  along 
with  German  100,  an  English 
elective,  and  mechanical  draw- 
ing. Premedical  students  and 
those  intending  to  major  in  biol- 
ogy took  Biology  100  instead  of 
Physics  100.  Although  science- 
engineering  students  took  Math 
100  for  three  two-hour  periods 
and  academic  students  for  three 
one-hour  periods  a  week,  the 
basic  course  was  the  same:  trig- 
onometry, analytic  geometry,  and 
elementary  calculus.  And  it  was 
still  required  for  graduation. 

For  the  third  and  fourth  years 
of  the  academic  program,  a  total 
of  ten  courses  were  required,  at 
least  one  in  each  group  in  each 
year.  This  was  later  modified  to 
two  in  each  of  Groups  A  and  B 
and  one  in  Group  C,  taken  in  any 
order.  At  least  seven  of  the  ten 
courses  had  to  be  advanced  (num- 
bered 300  or  higher),  and  not 
fewer  than  three  nor  more  than 
five  could  fall  in  the  major  field. 
In  1947  academic  majors  were  of- 
fered in  business  administration 
and  economics,  English,  history, 
modern  languages,  philosophy. 


148 


The  1940s 


and  prelcgal  studies.  In  1949  pre- 
mcdical  studies  could  be  taken  as 
a  major  in  either  the  academic  or 
science-engineering  program,  and 
mathematics  was  hsted  in  both 
courses  of  study  in  19 so. 

For  pure  science  and  mathe- 
matics majors,  the  phin  was  not 
as  flexible,  but  it  did  include  a 
humanities  elective  each  year. 
Otherwise  the  student  took  three 
courses  in  science  (one  outside 
the  major  field)  in  the  third  year, 
and  two  in  the  major  during  the 
fourth  year.  Another  year  of  a  for- 
eign language,  biology,  and  a  free 
elective  completed  the  ten  re- 
quired courses.  Honors  programs 
were  available  for  both  arts 
and  science  students,  and  each 
department  offering  them 
had  its  own  formula  for  required 
courses. 

Overall,  the  engineering  curric- 
ulum was  the  most  changed.  Un- 
der the  old  curriculum  engineers 
had  taken  mostly  engineering 
courses,  with  only  two  human- 
ities courses  and  some  business 
administration  and  economics  to 
leaven  the  mass  of  math,  science, 
and  engineering  subjects.  To 
broaden  the  curriculum  with  re- 
quirements in  the  humanities 
and  to  deepen  work  in  the  funda- 
mental sciences,  engineers  now 
followed  the  scientific  course  of 
study  for  the  first  two  years,  then 
moved  into  the  strictly  engineer- 
ing courses.  One  aspect  of  the  en- 
gineering curriculum,  however, 
did  not  change.  Engineering  ma- 
jors had  no  choice  of  courses,  ex- 
cept a  humanities  elective  taken 
in  the  third  or  fourth  year,  de- 
pending on  the  branch  of  engi- 


neering in  which  the  student  was 
enrolled. 

The  degree  that  engineering 
students  received  also  changed. 
Up  to  that  time,  the  Rice  Insti- 
tute had  awarded  a  B.S.  at  the  end 
of  four  years,  and  the  degree  of 
chemical,  civil,  electrical,  or  me- 
chanical engineer  at  the  end  of 
five.  The  new  curriculum  called 
for  a  B.A.  degree  at  the  end  of 
four  years  and  a  B.S.  in  a  specific 
kind  of  engineering  at  the  end  of 
five. 

Architects  followed  the  aca- 
demic first-year  schedule  with 
the  addition  of  an  architecture 
course.  The  remainder  of  their 
curriculum  was  virtually  un- 
changed, as  was  the  curriculum 
for  physical  education  majors. 

Almost  all  of  the  old  courses  at 
Rice  were  year-long  and  counted 
as  one  unit  each,  as  they  had 
from  the  beginning  of  the  Insti- 
tute. The  new  ones  continued  to 
be  year-long,  but  under  the  new 
curriculum  semester  courses 
were  to  be  counted  instead  of 
whole  units.  As  before,  students 
registered  in  the  fall  for  the  en- 
tire year.  The  faculty  committee 
also  called  for  daily  attendance 
records  for  all  freshman  and 
sophomore  classes  on  the  prem- 
ise that  those  classes  were  not 
"ready  for  freedom"  in  the  matter 
of  attendance.  The  spelling  test 
required  for  graduation  in  19^7 
was  now  a  requirement  for  pro- 
motion and  enrollment  in 
courses  in  the  junior  year. 

Although  the  new  curriculum 
was  introduced  in  luly  1946  with 
the  goal  of  instituting  it  the  fol- 
lowing September,  the  faculty 


did  not  adopt  it  until  April  1947. 
It  was  several  years  before  stu- 
dents felt  the  effects  of  this 
curriculum." 

Another  change  took  place  for 
students  in  the  fall  of  1947:  ad- 
mission procedures  were  made 
more  explicit  and  organized  into 
a  schedule.  Four  hundred  was 
still  the  maximum  number  of  en- 
tering freshmen,  and  fifteen  the 
required  number  of  high  school 
credits,  but  the  credits  had  been 
rearranged  somewhat.  The  old 
system  required  three  in  English, 
two  in  algebra,  one  in  plane  ge- 
ometry, two  in  history,  and  three 
in  one  foreign  language  or  two  in 
two  foreign  languages.  One  to 
three  credits  in  science  were  rec- 
ommended. Reflecting  the  times, 
as  well  as  changes  in  high  school 
curricula  and  the  needs  of  the 
students,  the  new  requirements 
called  for  four  credits  in  English, 
two  in  algebra,  one  in  plane  ge- 
ometry, one-half  in  trigonometry, 
at  least  two  in  social  studies,  two 
in  a  foreign  language  (preferably 
Latin),  two  in  science  (biology 
chemistry,  or  physics),  and  one 
and  one-half  electives  selected 
from  a  list  of  serious  subjects 
ranging  from  botany  to  zoology. 
Seven  of  the  sixteen  subject  cate- 
gories of  the  electives  were  in 
science. 

Personal  and  mental  qualifica- 
tions were  the  new  requirements 
for  admission.  To  prove  himself 
or  herself  personally  qualified,  an 
applicant  had  to  provide  a  health 
certificate  from  the  family  physi- 
cian and  letters  of  recommenda- 
tion from  teachers,  and  also  to 
have  a  personal  interview  with  a 


The  1940s 


149 


member  of  the  Admissions  Com- 
mittee or  the  committee's  repre- 
semative.  Mental  quahfications 
were  determined  by  grades  in 
high  school  subjects,  rank  in  the 
graduating  class,  and,  if  neces- 
sary, examinations  given  by  the 
Institute.  The  majority  of  stu- 
dents were  still  admitted  without 
entrance  examinations  on  the 
basis  of  an  outstanding  high 
school  record  and  satisfactory 
personal  qualifications.  Whereas 
previously  students  in  the  upper 
half  of  their  high  school  classes 
were  given  preference,  under  the 
new  system  only  those  in  the  up- 
per twenty-five  percent  were  en- 
couraged to  apply  and  they  were 
not  guaranteed  admission  with- 
out examination. 

Applicants  who  did  not  have 
outstanding  records  but  who 
were  approved  by  the  committee 
were  given  the  chance  to  prove 
the  adequacy  of  their  preparation 
by  taking  entrance  examinations 
m  English  and  mathematics. 
The  departments  of  English  and 
mathematics  wrote  these  tests, 
graded  them,  and  ranked  the 
grades  to  determine  relative 
standings  among  the  applicants. 
These  results  were  confidential 
to  the  Admissions  Committee; 
no  applicant  knew  what  his  or 
her  grade  or  rank  was. 

The  committee  established 
schedules  for  interviews  and  ex- 
aminations in  Houston  and  other 
Texas  cities  and  set  a  deadline  of 
March  i  for  filling  applications. 
Up  to  this  time,  the  Institute  had 
had  no  idea  how  many  students 
would  actually  register  in  Sep- 
tember, and  the  new  plan  sought 


to  correct  this  logistical  defect.  A 
student  had  two  weeks  after  the 
date  on  the  notice  of  acceptance 
to  signify  in  writing  his  or  her  in- 
tention of  accepting  admission 
and  to  send  in  a  twenty-five- 
dollar  registration  fee.  If  the  stu- 
dent did  not  appear  to  register  in 
September  and  had  not  so  noti- 
fied the  school  before  August  i, 
the  payment  was  forfeited.^" 

There  were  also  changes  for 
graduate  students,  through  the 
Committee  on  Graduate  Instruc- 
tion. No  longer  were  a  good  un- 
dergraduate record  and  letters  of 
recommendation  sufficient  for 
admission.  Starting  in  1947,  the 
graduate  studies  committee  "ad- 
vised," although  It  did  not  abso- 
lutely require,  candidates  to  take 
the  Graduate  Record  Examina- 
tion. The  catalog  stated  that  pref- 
erence would  be  given  to  appli- 
cants with  high  scores  on  these 
tests.  As  for  graduate  degrees,  a 
number  of  departments  offered 
Master  of  Arts  and  Master  of  Sci- 
ence degrees,  but  the  Ph.D.  was 
available  m  1947  only  in  biology, 
chemistry,  mathematics,  and 
physics.  This  limitation  was  soon 
changed  as  more  teachers  were 
hired. ^' 


Changes  in  Faculty  and 
Physical  Plant 

The  hiring  of  new  faculty  mem- 
bers began  just  after  Houston 
took  office,  and  teachers  return- 
ing from  war  duty  further  in- 
creased the  numbers.  Many  came 
in  with,  or  were  elevated  to,  a 
rank  new  to  Rice:  associate  pro- 


fessor. In  1946,  16  new  faculty 
members  and  4  veterans  arrived; 
21  more  were  added  in  1947,  and 
another  16  in  1948.  In  total  num- 
ber the  faculty  reached  100  in 
1950.  By  that  year  the  human- 
ities, architecture,  and  science 
faculties  had  doubled  from  194  s 
figures,  and  engineers  had  in- 
creased by  more  than  one-third. 
Architecture  hired  James  K.  Dun- 
away  and  A.  A.  Leifeste,  Jr.,  and 
welcomed  James  Morehead,  Jr., 
home  from  the  war.  Biology  saw 
the  arrival  of  Roy  V.  Talmage  and 
parasitologist  Clark  R  Read.  John 
Kilpatrick  and  Edward  S.  Lewis 
joined  the  chemistry  department, 
and  chemical  engineering  added 
William  W.  Akers  and  Guy  T. 
McBride.  Other  engineers  in- 
cluded Paul  E.  Pfeiffer  m  electri- 
cal engineering  and  Hugh  Scott 
Cameron  and  Alan  J.  Chapman 
in  mechanical  engineering.  James 
R.  Sims  returned  to  civil  engi- 
neering from  the  war.  Physics 
added  Gerald  C.  Phillips,  J.  R. 
Risser,  and  Charles  F.  Squire;  phi- 
losophy acquired  James  Street 
Fulton.  Hardin  Craig,  Jr.,  and 
Rice  alumni  Katherine  Fischer 
Drew  and  William  H.  Masterson 
began  teaching  history.  Mathe- 
matics welcomed  Gerald  R.  Mac- 
Lane  and  Szolem  Mandelbrojt, 
while  economics  added  James  B. 
Giles  and  John  E.  Hodges.  And 
there  were  others.^' 

As  there  were  arrivals,  there 
were  also  departures.  Rice  inau- 
gurated a  retirement  plan  in  1946 
that  provided  an  option  for  retire- 
ment at  age  sixty  and  compul- 
sory retirement  at  seventy.  A 
pension  plan  was  also  established 


ISO 


The  iy40s 


tor  those  faculty  members  who 
had  accumulated  years  of  service 
before  1946.  At  the  end  of  the 
school  year  in  May  1947,  two  m- 
dividuals  who  were  campus  fix- 
tures retired — Harold  A.  Wilson 
with  thirty-five  years  of  service, 
and  Alice  Dean  with  thirty-three. 
Miss  Dean  went  out  in  style,-  the 
board  had  finally  given  her  the  ti- 
tle "librarian"  (not  just  "acting  li- 
brarian") in  1946." 

Along  with  added  faculty,  more 
buildings  were  needed  for  offices, 
classrooms,  labs,  dormitories, 
and  a  library.  The  last  was  proba- 
bly the  most  important,  since 
Miss  Dean  had  done  an  excellent 
job  of  collecting.  By  1947  Rice's 
150,000  library  books  could  be 
found  in  nine  library  locations. 
The  main  library  was  on  the  sec- 
ond floor  of  Lovett  Hall,  with  the 
history  collection  housed  on  the 
first  floor  and  bound  periodicals 
shelved  in  the  basement.  There 
were  two  libraries  for  chemistry 
in  the  Chemistry  Building,  and 
an  architectural  library  as  well; 
the  physics  library  was  in  the 
Physics  Building. 

To  plan  for  a  new  library,  a  Co- 
operative Committee  on  Library 
Buildings  was  formed  in  1945 
with  representatives  from  many 
different  university  libraries,-  in 
addition.  Rice  sought  special  aid 
from  John  E.  Burchard,  director  of 
libraries  at  MIT  in  1946.  Claude 
Heaps,  professor  of  physics,  was 
the  first  director  of  the  library;  he 
and  his  faculty  committee  knew 
fairly  precisely  what  they  wanted. 
The  argument  and  sentiments 
were  overwhelming  for  consol- 
idating the  scattered  collections 
into  one  central  library.  The  com- 


mittee wanted  open  stacks,  but 
they  also  anticipated  the  neces- 
sity for  reverting  to  a  "semi- 
closed"  stack  system  in  the  event 
that  the  non-Rice  public  abused 
their  open-stack  privileges.  (Un- 
der the  terms  of  the  Institute 
charter,  the  library  was  to  be 
open  to  the  public.)  The  faculty 
also  wanted  reading  areas  of  ade- 
quate size  with  tables  and  chairs, 
small  faculty  studies  (but  no  fac- 
ulty offices)  and  student  carrels 
within  the  stack  area,  and  small 
rooms  for  seminars  but  not  ordi- 
nary classrooms.  To  Burchard's 
suggestion  that  an  outside  spe- 
cialist inventory  the  Rice  hold- 
ings with  an  eye  to  pointing  out 
gaps,  the  committee  replied  that 
the  faculty  was  satisfied  with  the 
old  system.  They  perceived  that 
there  were  very  few  gaps  in  the 
holdings  in  use.  The  old  acquisi- 
tions policy  considered  use  as  the 
ultimate  criterion  for  book  ac- 
quisition, and  as  a  result  Rice 
owned  few  rare  books  and  in 
certain  fields  had  only  limited 
holdings.  When  the  need  arose, 
however,  the  board  authorized 
special  appropriations  to  meet  the 
demands  of  the  new  curriculum. 
One  of  the  most  controversial 
questions  was  the  location  of  the 
library  building.  It  was  generally 
agreed  that  the  building  would  be 
situated  on  the  long  central  axis 
that  passed  through  the  Sallyport 
of  Lovett  Hall  and  the  founder's 
statue,  but  how  far  beyond  the 
statue?  The  architects  wanted  it 
on  the  site  laid  out  in  the  original 
Cram  and  Ferguson  plan,  which 
would  have  put  it  where  the  soc- 
cer and  band  practice  field  is  to- 
day, west  of  the  present  student 


center.  Locating  it  there  assumed 
that  the  school  would  grow  tre- 
mendously and  that  future  new 
buildings  would  be  placed  even 
farther  from  the  main  entrance. 
Proponents  of  this  location  spoke 
of  the  "enormous  and  significant 
vista."  Most  pragmatic  faculty 
members,  however,  were  more 
interested  in  how  long  it  would 
take  to  walk  from  their  offices 
to  the  library  than  in  the  view. 
Heaps's  committee  recommended 
the  present  location.  They  be- 
lieved that  that  site  would  be 
central  to  the  Institute  for  some 
time  to  come,  possibly  perma- 
nently. They  thought  that  expan- 
sion to  the  west  would  probably 
be  for  men's  housing,  athletic 
buildings,  or  other  auxiliary  func- 
tions that  would  not  place  their 
main  reliance  on  the  library.  The 
site  would  still  provide  a  grand, 
more  than  adequate  view."" 

Even  the  generous  million- 
dollar  gift  from  Mrs.  Fondren  was 
not  enough  to  cover  the  entire 
cost  of  the  building  as  finally 
planned,  so  the  trustees  looked  to 
other  friends  of  the  university  for 
much  of  the  remaining  $785,000 
needed.  Part  of  the  fund  drive 
focused  on  alumni.  Since  1928 
the  alumni  association  had  been 
collecting  money  for  a  memorial 
building  of  offices  and  classrooms 
to  be  constructed  across  the 
quadrangle  from  the  Physics 
Building.  Because  of  the  depres- 
sion and  the  small  number  of 
Rice  alumni,  they  had  not  col- 
lected enough  for  such  a  build- 
ing; but  in  1947  the  association 
voted  to  earmark  the  accumu- 
lated funds  (some  S8o,ooo)  for 
construction  of  the  library.  The 


The  1940s 


151 


pj^^ 


108- 1 10.  The  construction  of  Fondren  Library.  108.  June  2,  1947.  109.  April  i.  1948.  no.  luly  1.  15 


The  1940s 


1 1 1  - 1 IV  The  interior  of  the  new  Fondren  Library.  1 1 1.  Circuhition  area.  May  24.  1949.  112.  Lecture  Lounge.  March 
10.  19^0.  11^.  Music  and  Arts  Lounge.  March  10.  2950. 


The  1940s 


153 


Bender  bequest  was  also  added  to 
the  hbrary  fund/' 

In  December  1947  the  cor- 
nerstone for  Fondren  Library  was 
laid  with  the  same  silver  trowel 
that  the  trustees  had  used  to  lay 
the  cornerstone  for  the  Admin- 
istration Building  in  i9ri.  The 
trowel  was  then  presented  to 
Mrs.  Fondren.  The  official  open- 
ing came  two  years  later  during 
homecoming.^" 

Anderson  Hall,  a  classroom 
and  office  building  adjacent  to 
the  library  on  the  Physics  Build- 
ing (north)  side  of  the  quadrangle, 
was  the  first  structure  completed 
in  the  postwar  building  program. 
Opening  in  1947,  the  building 
was  named  in  honor  of  M.  D.  An- 
derson, whose  foundation  had 
given  $300,000  toward  the  pur- 
chase of  the  Rincon  oil  field  with 
the  proviso  already  noted  that 
when  debts  were  cleared  from 
that  transaction,  the  money  be 
used  for  some  such  purpose.'' 

The  Abercrombie  Engineering 
Laboratory  opened  in  November 
1948.  Located  adjoining  the  Me- 
chanical Laboratory  Building,  it 
was  designed  by  the  firm  of  Staub 
and  Rather,  architects  for  the 
library  and  Anderson  Hall. 
William  M.  McVey,  Rice  '27, 
sculpted  a  mural  for  the  entrance. 
A  highly  stylized  figure  (which 
McVey  called  "Uncle  Jupe") 
represented  "man's — the  engi- 
neer's— transmission  and  storage 
of  natural  energy,  symbolized  by 
the  sun,  into  power  for  a  mechan- 
ical and  industrial  civilization." 
McVey  used  dynamos,  power 
lines,  oil  tanks,  and  a  refinery  to 
designate  the  branches  of  engi- 
neering. The  Houston  chapter  of 


the  Architectural  Institute  of 
America  selected  the  laboratory 
as  the  best  nonresidential  build- 
ing erected  and  occupied  in 
Houston  during  1948.'" 

Expansion  did  not  stop  with 
these  three  structures.  In  1949  a 
house  for  the  president  was  fi- 
nally constructed  on  campus,  a 
house  that  had  been  discussed 
since  at  least  1912.  The  Hous- 
tons  had  a  home.  A  new  dormi- 
tory, badly  needed  to  alleviate 
overcrowding,  also  went  up  in 
1949  and  was  dedicated  in  19 so 
as  Wiess  Hall  in  memory  of 
trustee  Harry  C.  Wiess,  who  had 
died  in  1948.-"' 

Plans  for  a  new  football  sta- 
dium began  as  early  as  1947,  but 
it  was  several  years  before  firm 
decisions  were  made.  During  that 
time,  all  sorts  of  proposals  came 
up  for  consideration,  involving 
people  not  only  at  the  Institute, 
but  also  at  the  University  of 
Houston  and  in  city  government, 
and  private  citizens  as  well.  In 
1948  there  was  much  local  en- 
thusiasm for  a  ioo,ooo-seat  mu- 
nicipal stadium,  in  which  both 
Rice  and  the  University  of  Hous- 
ton would  have  an  interest.  This 
idea  was  abandoned  for  a  variety 
of  reasons,  including  reluctance 
at  both  schools  and  lack  of  fund- 
ing. Historically  the  Rice  board 
had  been  averse  to  involving  In- 
stitute money  in  projects  that  the 
Institute  did  not  control.  In  No- 
vember 1949  the  trustees  an- 
nounced that  Rice  would  build 
its  own  stadium.'"' 

At  first  the  trustees  had  toyed 
with  the  idea  of  remodeling  the 
old  stadium,  but  they  decided 
after  much  discussion  to  build  a 


new  one.  Seating  capacity  for  the 
new  stadium  was  first  proposed 
to  be  40,000,  grew  to  54,000,  and 
was  finally  settled  at  70,000.  To 
raise  as  much  of  the  cost  (esti- 
mated at  more  than  $2  million) 
as  possible  from  sources  outside 
the  university,  the  trustees  sold 
options  on  seats — $200  for  each 
box  seat  and  $100  for  each  grand- 
stand seat,  with  previous  season 
ticket  holders  and  alumni  having 
first  choice.  Trustee  George 
Brown's  Brown  &  Root  Construc- 
tion Company  agreed  to  build  the 
stadium  at  cost  to  save  the  time 
needed  to  advertise  for  bids;  work 
began  promptly  in  February  for  a 
target  opening  date  of  September 
30,  1950.  The  final  cost  was 
$3,295,000.  Construction  on  the 
stadium  went  on  literally  night 
and  day,  and  the  president  began 
to  receive  letters  from  residents 
along  Rice  and  University  Bou- 
levards complaining  about  the 
constant  noise  and  confusion. 
American  Federation  of  Labor 
pickets  marched  in  front  of  the 
stadium  to  protest  Brown  (S< 
Root's  open  shop  policy  and  the 
company's  refusal  to  recognize 
the  unions.  At  one  point.  Rice 
students  who  wanted  the  sta- 
dium picketed  the  pickets.  As  if 
that  disruption  were  not  enough, 
construction  workers  came  upon 
an  underground  stream  with  a 
fairly  rapid  flow  of  water.  It  had 
to  be  diverted  and  routed  through 
conduits,  as  did  the  old  "Blue 
Danube,"  or  Harris  Gully,  which 
meandered  across  what  was  to  be 
the  parking  lot.  Somehow  in 
spite  of  the  crises  the  stadium 
opened  on  time.  It  was  designed 
purely  for  football  with  no  cinder 


I.S4 


The  1940s 


114-116.  Construction  of  AndcT\(m  Hall.  114.  November  6,  1946.  115.  July  i,  1947.  116.  December  8,  1947. 


The  1940s 


155 


■J-J^. 


^^^^■■:^^-''  .-^^^Z''" 

•^■'^ 

0 

117-119.  Construction  of  Aberc  Klin  hic  Idhtudtory  117.  GrounJhrciikur.:   /:/>    '    •  ',      1  i^.  Aerial  view  of 
construction,  December  2.  1947  (also  shows  Fondren  Library  construction  and  completed  Anderson  Hall).  119.  luly 


156 


The  1940s 


120.  "Uncle  Jupe."  a  sculpture  by  William  M.  McVey  on  the  facade  of 
Abercrombie  Laboratorv. 


track  separating  the  field  from 
the  stands,  and  it  had  what  Jess 
Neely  called  "just  perfect  turf." 
After  the  opening,  the  task  of  as- 
signing seats  to  season  ticket 
holders  became  problematic 
when  some  were  not  satisfied 
with  their  allotted  locations. 
Nammg  the  stadium  stirred  up 
more  controversy.  The  trustees 
had  intended  originally  to  call  it 


Houston  Stadium  for  the  city,  but 
that  sounded  like  a  municipally- 
owned  stadium  and  seemed  con- 
fusing. Neither  were  Rice  stu- 
dents and  alumni  particularly 
happy  to  saddle  their  stadium 
with  that  name.  The  final  deci- 
sion to  call  it  simply  Rice  Sta- 
dium met  with  almost  universal 
agreement.' 

As  much  as  Rice  needed  new 


classrooms,  offices,  dormitories, 
and  a  library,  it  needed  a  new 
Field  House.  The  old  one  was 
falling  down;  conditions  had 
reached  the  point  where  a  tele- 
phone pole  propped  up  a  wall 
that  was  separating  from  the 
building.  Coach  Neely  did  not 
have  to  go  outside  to  see  if  any- 
one was  practicing  on  the  field — 
he  could  just  look  through  the 
crack  in  the  wall.  When  prospec- 
tive high  school  athletes  came  to 
visit,  the  last  place  they  were 
shown  was  the  Field  House.  In 
1949,  about  the  time  the  decision 
was  made  to  build  the  new  sta- 
dium, work  was  begun  on  a  new 
gymnasium.  The  building  in- 
cluded a  basketball  arena  (the 
first  one  on  the  Rice  campus),  a 
swimming  pool,  squash  and 
handball  courts,  offices  for  the 
Athletic  Association  and  the 
physical  education  department, 
and  facilities  for  women.  Rice 
women  could  finally  take  physi- 
cal training  courses,  and  fresh- 
man women  now  had  compul- 
sory "RT,"  as  did  the  men.  The 
basketball  court  was  named  Au- 
try  Court  in  honor  of  Mrs.  James 
L.  Autry  (donor  of  Autry  House), 
whose  daughter,  Allie  Autry  Kel- 
ley.  Rice  '2s,  donated  $250,000 
toward  the  building.  (In  the 
1920s,  Mrs.  Autry,  a  staunch  sup- 
porter of  Rice  athletics,  used  to 
turn  her  house  into  a  dispensary 
for  bruised  Owl  players,  and  she 
traveled  to  Austin  and  College 
Station  to  cheer  the  teams.)  The 
new  Field  House  opened  in 
19s  I.'' 


The  1940s 


157 


121.  Interior  view.  Abercrombie  Laboratory.  September  1949- 


Student  Concerns 

lust  as  the  campus  changed  phys- 
ically in  appearance,  it  was  al- 
tered in  many  other  ways  for 
students  during  the  1940s.  The 
war,  of  course,  radically  trans- 
formed the  university.  Student 
traditions  of  many  years  went 
by  the  wayside  in  the  process. 
The  May  Fete  was  canceled;  the 


Thresher  was  cut  in  size  and 
gained  its  first  full-time  female 
editor  when  Marion  Hargrove 
took  over  for  her  husband  Jim;  no 
speaker  addressed  commence- 
ment in  1942;  and  in  a  scrap 
drive  Woofus,  the  mechanical 
monster  from  the  Engmeering 
Show,  was  zealously  added  to  the 
pile  of  metal.  The  band  dissolved 
for  a  while  when  Kit  Reid  went 


to  war,  but  student  volunteers 
started  it  again  and  carried  on 
through  the  war.  Senior  rings 
were  available  in  1943,  but  the 
underside  of  the  crest  had  to  be 
hollow  instead  of  solid,  to  con- 
serve metal  for  the  war  effort. 
The  Engineering  Society,  known 
for  shaved  eyebrows,  strange 
coiffures,  and  dead  fish  at  initia- 
tion time,  was  disbanded  after 


158 


The  1940s 


some  "unfortunate  incidents"  at 
one  of  their  welcoming  cere- 
monies. No  bonfires  encouraged 
football  players  before  the  Aggie 
games,  although  the  war  did  not 
stop  the  farmers  from  stealing 
Sammy  in  1943.  Corsages  were 
banned  for  spring  dances  in  194s, 
because  the  Navy  men  said  they 
had  no  money  to  buy  flowers." 


These  stringencies  did  not 
mean,  however,  that  life  at  the 
histitute  was  dead.  There  was 
still  plenty  to  do,  including 
dances,  athletic  activities,  club 
meetings,  and  cloister  courses. 
As  for  schoolwork,  the  Thresher 
editor  complained  in  194s  about 
low  grades  and  the  decline  of  the 
old  Rice  standards.  Grades  were 


sg    "M 


n 


as 


IITIIIIIBIIBliliiiirHi^S 


122.  Construction  of  the  new  Rice  Stadnim.  May  23,  1950. 

123.  The  completed  stadium,  with  athletic  director  Jess  Neely  in  the  foreground. 


The  1940s 


159 


falling,  she  noted,  but  "it  is  gen- 
erally accepted  that  Rice  is  an 
easier  school  than  it  was  before 
the  war."  The  war  usually  got  the 
blame,  but  the  editor  thought 
that  poor  grades  were  due  to  the 
students'  habitual  evasion  of 
responsibility/^ 

When  the  war  ended  and  Presi- 
dent Lovett  announced  in  the 


spring  of  1946  that  the  university 
would  return  to  the  old  schedule 
in  September,  everyone  breathed 
a  sigh  of  relief.  By  that  time  fac- 
ulty and  students  alike  needed  a 
vacation  from  year-round  classes. 
It  did  not  take  long  for  the  Insti- 
tute to  return  to  normal  the  fol- 
lowing fall.  Students  returning 
from  the  war  picked  up  their 


studies  where  they  had  left  off,  in 
many  cases  under  the  same  pro- 
fessor. In  September  194  s  the  old 
practice  of  hazing  had  revived  to 
include  special  slime  clothing, 
the  Slime  Parade,  and  certain 
rules  of  slime  conduct;  persecu- 
tion was  to  be  verbal,  not  physi- 
cal.'' Tony  Martino  continued  to 
entertain  students  at  the  bonfires 
with  his  tenuous  grasp  of  the  En- 
glish language  while  he  exhorted 
the  team  to  victory.  Literary  so- 
ciety activities  and  social  life  re- 
sumed their  hectic  pace,  while 
some  students  faced  the  old  prob- 
lem of  how  to  fit  all  their  extra- 
curricular doings  into  a  day  and 
still  find  some  time  for  study. 
The  Rice  that  emerged  from 
the  war,  however,  was  not  the 
same  as  the  Rice  of  old.  A  larger 
number  of  graduate  students  in- 
creased the  total  enrollment  and 
altered  the  prewar  ratio  of  gradu- 
ates to  undergraduates;  by  1950 
there  were  150  graduate  students. 
The  new  curriculum  that  was 
adopted  in  1947  brought  about 
change  slowly  and  subtly,  as 
those  on  the  old  curriculum  grad- 
uated and  each  successive  class 
came  in  under  the  new  system. 
Another  change  was  in  the  rules 
concerning  scholastic  proba- 
tion— rules  that  were  a  source  of 
increased  pressure  for  the  stu- 
dents. Under  the  new  system, 
students  who  were  failing  in 
their  first  freshman  semester 
were  placed  on  probation  instead 
of  being  dropped  from  school, 
and  all  students  were  henceforth 
allowed  only  two  probations  (a 
probation  lasted  one  semester) 
during  their  academic  careers,  in- 
stead of  the  previous  unlimited 


i6o 


The  1940s 


number.  A  third  probation  meant 
automatic  expulsion.  A  "special 
probation"  at  the  discretion  of 
the  Committee  on  Examina- 
tions and  Standing  might  also  be 
granted.  This  probation,  however, 
was  extremely  stringent,  requir- 
ing no  grade  of  less  than  III  dur- 
ing the  period  of  special  proba- 
tion and  absolutely  no  academic 
difficulty  thereafter.  " 

By  1949  approximately  thirteen 
percent  of  all  freshmen  were  fail- 
ing in  their  first  semester,  and 
the  faculty  was  concerned.  Be- 
ginning in  1948,  a  committee 
known  variously  as  the  Commit- 
tee on  the  Freshman  Course  and 
the  Committee  on  Coordination 
of  Freshmen,  chaired  first  by  Pro- 
fessor Heaps,  began  to  investigate 
the  problems  that  freshmen  faced 
in  adapting  to  Rice.  Committee 
members  interviewed  all  fresh- 
man students  who  had  failed  two 
or  more  subjects,  and  they  found 
many  causes  for  poor  work,  rang- 
ing from  inadequate  high  school 
preparation  to  homesickness.  An- 
other step  they  took  was  to  meet 
with  the  teaching  assistants  for 
courses  that  had  many  sections, 
in  order  to  discuss  their  teaching 
methods.  The  graduate  students 
suggested  that  one  of  the  prob- 
lems lay  in  the  emphasis  placed 
on  research  in  their  own  studies. 
There  was  not  much  incentive 
for  good  teaching,  they  said,  and 
they  did  not  have  adequate  time 
to  prepare  for  the  classes  they 
were  teaching.  The  assistants 
also  said  that  they  wanted  to 
meet  with  department  heads  and 
the  faculty  in  charge  of  freshman 
sections  to  learn  more  about  de- 
partment policies,  standards, 


methods,  and  requirements.  As  a 
final  measure  in  its  investigation, 
the  committee  sent  a  question- 
naire to  members  of  the  fresh- 
man class  to  determine  whether 
certain  courses  were  demanding 
more  than  their  proper  share 
of  time.  Analysis  indicated  that 
the  average  science-engineering 
freshman  spent  fifty-five  hours  a 
week  in  study,  classes,  and  labo- 
ratory, while  the  representative 
academic  student  spent  forty-four 
hours.  The  committee  members 
thought  that  that  was  about  the 
right  amount  of  time,  although 
perhaps  the  science-engineers 
were  putting  in  a  bit  more  than 
was  desirable. 

In  its  report,  the  committee 
speculated  on  the  reasons  why  so 
many  students  were  on  proba- 
tion. They  listed  the  following 
possibilities:  an  inadequate  selec- 
tion process  for  admissions;  poor 
teaching;  a  belief  on  the  part  of 
the  faculty  that  awarding  low 
grades  indicated  high  standards; 
an  actual  raising  of  standards  by 
the  faculty,  so  that  even  able 
students  could  not  make  good 
grades.  Even  after  they  had  stud- 
ied admission  procedures,  how- 
ever, the  committee  could  not 
reach  a  judgment  about  the  qual- 
ity of  freshmen,  nor  could  they 
identify  which  of  the  possible 
causes  accounted  for  the  high 
failure  rate.  They  considered  ad- 
ministering aptitude  tests  to 
freshmen  and  issuing  brief  sug- 
gestions about  how  to  study; 
they  also  discussed  the  question 
of  more  faculty-freshman  com- 
munication and  guidance,  cau- 
tioned against  a  rigid  curve  grad- 
ing system  in  any  class,  and 


asked  the  faculty  for  further  sug- 
gestions. Concerning  a  request 
that  academic  students  have  spe- 
cial sections  of  Math  100  and 
Physics  100  (the  two  courses  that 
failed  more  freshmen  than  any 
others),  Hubert  Bray  of  mathe- 
matics and  Claude  Heaps  of 
physics  "maintained  a  somewhat 
intransigent  attitude  toward 
these  proposals."' 

The  following  year,  the  same 
committee  sent  out  another 
questionnaire,  this  time  survey- 
ing those  on  probation.  When 
few  replied,  the  committee  again 
interviewed  the  students.  Those 
who  had  replied  to  the  question- 
naire were  more  inclined  to 
blame  their  failure  on  poor  high 
school  training  than  on  any  other 
cause.  Of  those  whom  the  com- 
mittee questioned  personally, 
however,  most  appeared  unable 
to  do  creditable  work  in  a  college 
such  as  Rice,  "no  matter  how 
much  help  and  advice  is  given 
them." 

As  in  the  previous  year,  the 
committee  concentrated  on  the 
admissions  process  and  on  the 
quality  of  freshman  students  as 
the  causes  of  so  many  freshman 
difficulties.  The  remedy  for 
Rice's  freshman  "unsuccess"  lay 
in  obtaining  a  "higher  type"  of 
freshman  to  begin  with,  the  com- 
mittee concluded.  That,  however, 
depended  on  having  a  very  large 
number  of  applicants  from  which 
to  choose,  and  the  number  was 
declining  in  1950.  The  Institute 
had  competition  from  free  state 
institutions,  which  gave  well- 
recognized  degrees  without  the 
amount  of  work  that  Rice  re- 
quired, and  Rice  had  made  no 


The  1940s 


161 


particular  effort  to  publicize  what 
it  had  to  offer.  Also,  there  were 
not  many  Rice  alumni  teaching 
in  the  public  schools  who  might 
be  able  to  mfluence  better  stu- 
dents to  apply  to  the  Institute.  In 
addition,  the  postwar  era  was  a 
prosperous  one,  when  the  ab- 
sence of  tuition  was  not  as  great 
an  advantage  as  it  once  had  been. 

The  committee  was  in  a  quan- 
dary. Administering  tests  such  as 
those  of  the  College  Entrance  Ex- 
amination Board  might  aid  m 
picking  the  best  of  the  appli- 
cants. On  the  other  hand,  if  Rice 
were  compelled  to  accept  almost 
any  high  school  graduate  who  ap- 
plied simply  to  keep  the  enroll- 
ment figures  up,  the  tests  would 
be  moot.  If  the  faculty  abandoned 
a  selective  admissions  process 
and  high  standards  for  freshmen, 
then  Rice's  traditional  high  stan- 
dards for  all  students  would  fall, 
as  well.  "The  time  has  come," 
the  committee  concluded,  "when 
we  must  face  the  fact  that  efforts 
will  have  to  be  made  to  attract 
students  to  Rice." 

"Under  these  circumstances," 
the  committee  wrote  to  the 
Committee  on  Examinations  and 
Standing,  "our  Committee  feels 
that  the  Institute  can  continue  to 
maintain  its  high  standards  only 
if  Its  attitude  toward  its  freshmen 
is  one  of  well-considered  rather 
than  of  mechanistic  legality.  The 
student  must  be  made  to  feel  that 
he  is  getting  more  help,  wiser  in- 
struction, more  personal  consid- 
eration, more  exact  understanding 
of  his  problems  at  Rice  than  he 
could  get  at  any  of  those  other 
universities  that  offer  easier 
courses  and  more  automatic 


degrees  than  Rice  offers."  The 
committee  then  requested  that 
the  rules  of  special  probation  not 
be  applied  to  freshmen  who  were 
readmitted  after  failing  their  first 
year.  Examinations  and  Standing 
denied  the  request,  maintaining 
that  freshmen  had  a  full  year  to 
make  the  adjustment  to  college 
and  that  readmission  on  special 
probation  helped  foster  a  favor- 
able mental  attitude  in  the 
student.  Past  experience  showed 
that  such  readmitted  students 
improved  markedly. 

In  response  to  a  report  by  the 
Committee  on  the  Freshman 
Course,  the  faculty  offered  com- 
ments of  their  own.  Hardin  Craig 
drew  attention  to  the  "bedevil- 
ment  of  freshmen"  and  the  bad 
effects  to  be  expected  from  fre- 
quent extracurricular  activities  of 
doubtful  value.  When  committee 
member  Trenton  Wann  indicated 
that  students  were  in  favor  of 
faculty  guidance  but  wanted 
more  extensive  participation  by 
the  faculty.  President  Houston 
pointed  out  that  such  faculty  in- 
volvement was  an  integral  part  of 
teaching.  Admissions  director 
McCann  cautioned  against  rigid 
rules  for  uniformity  in  grading, 
but  Edwin  Wyatt  was  in  favor  of 
the  curve.  George  Williams,  an- 
other member  of  the  committee, 
mentioned  the  difficulty  of  deter- 
mining precise  number  grades  m 
humanities  courses  and  ventured 
the  opinion  that  the  large  num- 
bers of  low  grades  might  be  in- 
dicative of  poor  teaching.  The 
faculty  minutes  do  not  record 
any  answer  to  his  observation. 

The  committee  made  some 
efforts  to  help  both  students  and 


faculty.  They  sent  the  freshmen 
suggestions  on  how  to  study  and 
solicited  suggestions  for  teaching 
from  both  faculty  and  teaching 
assistants  in  the  various  depart- 
ments. How  the  "unfit"  got  into 
Rice  still  needed  an  answer,  but 
in  the  meantime  the  committee 
called  for  an  active  counseling 
program  for  freshmen  and  a  re- 
written section  on  probation  in 
the  General  Announcements.  Ac- 
cording to  some  students,  the 
section  was  so  confusing  that 
they  had  no  idea  that  they  were 
on  probation  until  someone  told 
them. 

The  problems  of  high  failure 
rates  and  large  percentages  of  stu- 
dents on  probation  did  not  go 
away,  however,  even  when  the 
number  of  applicants  increased. 
It  remained  to  be  seen  what 
effect  these  conditions,  the  new 
curriculum,  and  the  admissions 
policy  would  have  on  students. 
The  forlorn  little  figure  studying 
for  finals  with  a  candle  burning 
on  his  head  made  his  first  ap- 
pearance in  the  Threshei  in  May 
1949.'"  More  than  thirty  years 
later,  he  is  still  resurrected  at  the 
end  of  every  term. 

Problems  concerning  the  honor 
system  resulted  in  a  new  consti- 
tution in  1948  and  elicited  much 
discussion.  Faculty  and  students 
generally  agreed  that  the  system 
had  been  weakened  during  the 
war.  According  to  a  Thresher  re- 
porter, the  honor  system  had 
worked  well  for  thirty  years  until 
the  advent  of  the  Navy  program 
on  campus.  The  Navy's  "out- 
spoken refusal  to  believe  m 
or  promote  an  honor  system" 
caused  problems,  he  said.  What- 


l62 


The  1940s 


ever  the  reason,  it  was  clear  that 
students  needed  more  expHcit 
rules  and  procedures.  The  new 
constitution  prohibited  deliberate 
proctormg  by  the  instructor;  it 
allowed  the  student  to  leave  the 
room  during  examinations  solely 
for  personal  reasons,  and  ar- 
ranged students  in  alternate  rows 
and  alternate  seats  for  exams  if 
possible.  The  pledge  and  signa- 
ture were  required  on  all  exam- 
inations and  whatever  other  work 
the  instructor  desired,  as  they 
had  been  from  the  beginning  of 
the  Institute.  The  constitution 
established  a  trial  procedure  and 
specified  a  minimum  penalty  of 
suspension  for  a  semester  plus 
the  uncompleted  portion  of  the 
semester  in  which  the  conviction 
was  made.'" 


Student  Activities 
in  the  1940s 

Not  all  the  changes  that  took 
place  were  so  serious  or  far- 
reaching.  The  first  female  cheer- 
leader, Betty  lean  "Foxie"  Fox, 
was  elected  in  1946,  thereby 
destroying  a  twenty-five-year-old 
tradition  that  yell  leaders  had  to 
be  male.  Drum  majorettes  also 
joined  the  band  in  half-time 
shows.  To  replace  the  not-much- 
lamented  Owl,  a  magazine  called 
RI  was  published  under  the  spon- 
sorship of  the  English  depart- 
ment and  sought  articles  that 
would  appeal  to  alumni,  faculty, 
and  the  general  public  as  well  as 
to  students.  The  first  Rondelct 
replaced  the  May  Fete  and 
showed  off  a  king  and  queen  at 
the  ball  in  1947.  The  Senior  Fol- 


124.  The  1946  cheerleaders,  mcludin;^  Betty  lean  "Foxie"  Fox.  the  first  female 
veil  leader  at  Rice. 


lies,  a  student-written  play  sati- 
rizing life  at  Rice  and  outside  the 
campus,  saw  the  light  of  day  in 
1949.  In  1948  the  alumni  associa- 
tion opened  a  placement  service 
for  job-hunting  students  and 
graduates,  thereby  eliminating 
the  need  for  professors  to  write 
more  than  one  letter  of  recom- 
mendation per  student.' 


Campus  clubs  found  that  their 
activities  came  under  the  juris- 
diction of  the  new  assistant  dean 
for  student  activities,  Hugh  S. 
Cameron,  and  his  Committee  on 
Student  Activities.  Cameron  met 
with  the  clubs'  officers  to  reiter- 
ate old  policies  and  make  some 
new  ones.  All  clubs'  books  would 
be  audited  and  their  publications 


The  1940s 


163 


supervised;  clubs  had  to  bring 
their  constitutions  up  to  date, 
submit  them  to  the  dean,  and  for- 
mulate a  calendar  of  club  events. 
"The  policy  of  the  Dean  of  Stu- 
dent Activities,"  said  Cameron, 
"is  to  have  faith  in  the  students, 
but  once  the  students  break  that 
faith,  they  will  never  be  given  an- 
other chance. "'^' 

One  set  of  organizations — the 
literary  societies — survived  the 
war  in  full  strength.  They  were 
still  the  closest  thing  to  soror- 
ities that  were  allowed  on  cam- 
pus and  had,  if  anything,  become 
even  more  sorority-like  and  ex- 
clusive over  the  years.  After 
much  discussion  of  pseudo- 
aristocracy  and  democracy,  a  new 
society — the  Sarah  Lane  Literary 
Society — was  formed  in  1947, 
named  after  the  adviser  to  women. 
Expanding  the  number  of  women 
involved  in  the  organizations  ap- 
peared to  put  more  flexibililty 
into  the  system.  Opening  it  up 
even  more  was  the  dean's  proviso 
that  in  the  future  any  ten  women 
who  wished  to  form  a  literary  so- 
ciety be  allowed  to  do  so.  After 
the  Sarah  Lane  Literary  Society 
was  established,  about  half  the 
women  enrolled  at  Rice  were 
members  of  a  "lit." 

In  1950  when  Betty  Rose  Dow- 
den  (wife  of  English  professor 
Wilfred  Dowden)  became  adviser 
to  women,  she  decided  to  combat 
the  discrimination  still  being 
shown  by  the  societies  and  en- 
listed Dr.  and  Mrs.  Houston  on 
her  side.  Although  some  mem- 
bers protested,  four  new  liter- 
ary societies  were  created:  the 
Chaille  Rice  Literary  Society,  the 
Olga  Keith  Literary  Society,  the 


Mary  Ellen  Lovett  Literary  So- 
ciety, and  the  Virginia  Cleveland 
Literary  Society.  Any  woman 
with  satisfactory  academic  stand- 
ing was  eligible  and  was  in  fact 
guaranteed  membership  in  a  so- 
ciety, although  it  might  not  be 
the  one  she  most  wanted.  Strict 
rules  were  drawn  up  for  rush,  and 
a  complicated  procedure  was  de- 
vised for  final  placement  into  the 
clubs.  The  two  committees  that 
had  handled  women  students'  is- 
sues and  activities,  the  Literary 
Council  and  the  Women's  Coun- 
cil, were  merged,  with  provision 
for  one  member  to  represent 
those  women  not  affiliated  with 
any  literary  society.  Except  for 
that  one  representative,  indepen- 
dents continued  to  have  no  orga- 
nized voice  in  women's  activities 
on  campus." 

The  Thresher  editor  in  1950 
did  not  care  much  for  either  the 
new  system  or  the  old  one,  say- 
ing that  the  literary  societies  had 
long  been  dedicated  to  the  princi- 
ple that  It  was  a  good  thing  to 
belong  to  a  group  that  not  every- 
one could  belong  to.  Some  of  the 
students  countered  that  they 
hoped  for  better  representation, 
communication,  and  in  general  a 
stronger  position  for  women  on 
campus. 

Although  the  organizations 
were  criticized  for  their  insen- 
sitivity  in  rushing,  the  resultant 
hurt  feelings,  and  for  the  non- 
democratic  environment  they 
fostered,  they  served  at  least  one 
important  purpose.  They  brought 
together  a  scattered  group  of 
women,  for  whom  very  few  facil- 
ities, and  in  some  cases  little  en- 
couragement, existed  on  campus. 


Town  students,  both  male  and  fe- 
male, missed  a  great  deal  of  col- 
lege life  and  the  education  that 
accompanied  it.  The  men  had 
been  somewhat  better  off  in  this 
respect  after  they  had  been  re- 
quired to  spend  at  least  one  year 
in  the  dormitory,  but  that  rule 
had  not  been  repromulgated  after 
World  War  II.  For  some  town 
students,  college  was  not  very 
different  from  high  school,  ex- 
cept for  the  level  of  instruction. 
Through  the  1940s,  Rice  was  still 
primarily  a  man's  school,  with 
women  enrolled.  Although  sev- 
eral women  were  listed  as  fellows 
and  assistants  in  the  instruc- 
tional staff  and  students  regarded 
them  as  faculty  members,  no 
woman  became  an  assistant  pro- 
fessor until  the  19SOS.  Even  Miss 
Dean,  who  taught  Math  100  for 
years,  was  titled  only  a  "fellow  in 
mathematics,"  in  addition  to 
being  acting  librarian  before 
1946.  The  only  woman  to  whom 
the  female  students  could  turn 
was  the  adviser  to  women,  who 
was  not  a  faculty  member  nor 
considered  important  enough  to 
be  listed  as  a  member  of  the  ad- 
ministration in  the  front  of  the 
catalog  unil  1952.  The  literary  so- 
cieties helped  fill  some  of  the 
gaps.^- 

If  the  "lits"  were  not  very  liter- 
ary neither  was  the  Rally  Club 
much  of  a  "service  organization" 
by  the  postwar  period.  The  club 
was  as  close  to  a  fraternity  as 
could  be  tolerated  at  Rice,  with 
membership  by  invitation.  It  did 
perform  whatever  services  the 
dean  might  require,  such  as 
parking  cars  at  various  campus 
functions,  but  the  members 


1 64 


The  1940s 


do  not  seem  strenuously  to  have 
searched  out  ways  to  help  others. 
They  were  well  known  for  their 
parties  and  for  their  initiation 
practices,  reminiscent  of  the 
rites  of  the  defunct  Engineering 
Society. 

Hazing,  although  stopped  com- 
pletely by  the  Navy  takeover, 
was  resurrected  after  the  war. 
Like  most  other  activities,  it  also 
changed,  picked  up  a  new  name, 
and  showed  up  in  a  different 
guise.  Most  of  the  old  rules  were 
revived  in  1946,  but  the  freshmen 
did  not  seem  much  interested  in 
being  hazed.  The  Thresher  com- 
plained that  there  were  few  par- 
ticipants for  the  freshman  shoe 
scramble  during  half  time  of  the 
football  game  and  claimed  that 
the  freshmen  showed  gross  lack 
of  sportsmanship.  "Another  such 
exhibition  by  the  Freshmen  or  a 
continuation  of  the  present  atti- 
tude of  them  would  make  certain 
the  present  doubt  as  to  their  hav- 
ing qualities  desired  of  students 
of  Rice  Institute,"  the  editor 
stated."" 

To  remedy  this  appalling  situa- 
tion, a  new  program  was  insti- 
tuted the  next  year  under  the 
name  "guidance."  Its  purpose  was 
to  instill  better  school  spirit  and 
to  assure  freshmen  of  the  oppor- 
tunity to  participate  in  all  school 
activities.  Traditional  rules  were 
in  effect,  ranging  from  wearing 
beanies  and  red  suspenders,  to  at- 
tending pep  rallies  and  games 
without  dates,  to  not  having  hair- 
cuts until  after  Thanksgiving. 
Dorm  slimes  had  special  duties, 
involving  cleaning  the  rooms  of 
upperclassmen  and  running  er- 
rands for  them.  Punishment  for 


infractions  of  the  rules  could  in- 
clude standing  at  rigid  attention, 
buttoning  up  shirts  all  the  way  to 
the  neck,  and  wearing  suspenders 
and  ties  every  day.  In  charge  of 
this  program  was  a  Guidance 
Committee  of  sophomores." 

This  guidance  program  lasted 
about  a  year,  until  the  Thresher 
and  others  began  to  complain  and 
to  ask  questions.  The  editor 
thought  that  the  announced  pro- 
gram for  1948  was  more  fitting 
for  fraternities,  and  he  did  not 
like  forcing  freshmen  to  parrot 
school  history  and  other  informa- 
tion as  the  Aggies  did.  Spirit 
should  not  be  formalized,  he  said. 
"Rice  student  spirit,  at  its  best," 
the  editor  maintained,  "means  an 
appreciation  of  individuality,  the 
depreciation  of  'masses.'"  There 
was  also  the  question  of  the 
Guidance  Committee's  authority 
and  its  source.  The  dean  of  stu- 
dent activities  gave  students  the 
impression  that  he  did  not  want 
to  hear  about  any  hazing;  while 
he  said  that  the  Guidance  Com- 
mittee was  responsible  to  him, 
he  did  not  establish  the  commit- 
tee or  know  of  its  legal  right  to 
exist.  The  Student  Council  dis- 
claimed any  knowledge  of  its  es- 
tablishment under  the  Student 
Association  and  set  up  another 
committee  to  investigate  the  pro- 
gram. However,  their  investiga- 
tion found  no  serious  objections 
to  the  guidance  activities. 

In  May  1949,  after  much  dis- 
cussion on  campus  in  Student 
Council  meetings  and  in  the 
Thresher,  the  Student  Council  of- 
fered the  students  a  referendum 
on  a  bylaw  that  would  establish  a 
Guidance  Committee  and  pro- 


gram. Both  sides  had  a  chance  to 
put  forth  their  views.  On  the  one 
hand  were  those  who  approved 
hazing,  including  the  physical 
type  such  as  broomings.  Those 
students  claimed  that  it  was  the 
driving  force  in  the  guidance  pro- 
gram, that  it  unified  the  class, 
brought  the  freshmen  down  off 
their  high-school  pedestals,  was 
good  practice  for  the  "licks"  a 
person  had  to  take  in  life,  that  it 
was  good  to  suffer  once  in  a 
while,  and  that  no  permanent 
damage  was  done.  On  the  other 
hand  were  those  opposed  not 
only  to  physical  hazing  but  to 
any  kind  of  extreme  personal  hu- 
miliation that  might  be  involved 
in  it.  This  side  eschewed  forced 
conformity  and  the  psychological 
as  well  as  physical  effects  of  haz- 
ing. The  Student  Council  passed 
a  resolution  condemning  physi- 
cal hazing  and  personal  humilia- 
tion, although  there  was  enough 
student  sentiment  to  pass  a  by- 
law establishing  the  Guidance 
Committee  by  a  large  majority. 
After  more  complaints  about 
hazing  the  next  fall,  crude  explo- 
sive devices  were  detonated  in 
front  of  the  house  of  two  of  the 
complainers,  Raymond  Lankford 
and  Farrell  Fulton.  Finally,  in  the 
aftermath  of  this  excess,  the 
campus  returned  to  normal.  A 
certain  amount  of  hazing  went 
on  as  before,  there  was  talk  of  the 
"voluntary"  nature  of  guidance, 
and  the  Slime  Parade  and  rules 
continued.  Revived  in  1948  or 
1949  was  the  practice  of  kidnap- 
ping the  sophomore  class  presi- 
dent before  the  sophomore  dance, 
and  the  week  before  the  party  be- 
came known  as  Hell  Week.  Hell 


The  1940s 


i6s 


Week  soon  had  its  own  rules  and 
regulations,  but  it  would  be  a 
short-lived  and  tragic  tradition."" 

Hazing  or  no  hazing,  one  of  the 
rites  of  passage  for  freshmen  was 
attendance  at  football  games 
to  yell  for  the  team.  Rice  fans 
had  much  to  cheer  about  in  the 
1940s.  Coach  Neely  had  barely 
had  a  chance  to  get  settled  into 
his  position  as  head  coach  and 
athletic  director  before  the  war 
started  and  took  most  of  his  play- 
ers into  the  armed  forces.  Prac- 
tically the  only  player  left  from 
the  1 94 1  team  was  Charles 
Malmberg,  who,  although  4-F 
because  of  his  eyes,  was  still 
strong  enough  to  become  an  All- 
Conference  team  choice  m  1942. 
When  the  Navy  took  over  the 
campus,  however,  they  let  their 
V-12  and  ROTC  students  partici- 
pate in  the  sports  programs  of  the 
school,  and  Neely  made  up  his 
teams  with  them.  He  remembers 
the  next  few  years  as  some  of  the 
most  interesting  he  ever  knew. 
Those  who  showed  up  to  play 
lacked  outstanding  ability,  but 
they  had  interest,  determination, 
and  a  lot  of  heart,  and  "they 
worked  like  Trojans,"  Neely 
said.  The  Southwest  Conference 
played  a  full  schedule,  and  with 
every  school  making  up  their 
teams  with  whomever  happened 
to  be  there,  the  unexpected  could 
happen  and  often  did.  In  1942 
Texas  beat  Rice  58-0,  and  sports- 
writer  Morris  Frank  asked  as- 
sistant coach  loe  Davis  if  he 
thought  Neely  would  mind  if 
Frank  offered  a  comment  that 
Rice  would  probably  not  enter- 
tain a  bowl  bid  that  year.  Neely 
replied  that  he  did  not  think 


125.  Rice  defeated  Texas  /le'M  m  this  1946  football  game,  27-10. 


zim^t^^ 


126.  Another  victoiy  over  A&^M.  28-6  (1948). 


1 66 


The  1940s 


127.  Freshman  track  team,  1C/47-4S. 


The  1940s 


167 


much  of  Frank's  humor.  The  next 
year,  however,  with  the  same 
team  against  some  of  the  same 
Texas  players,  the  score  was  7—0 
with  Rice  on  top.  In  1944  in  Aus- 
tin the  Owls  won  again,  7-6. 
Neely  says  that  he  probably 
got  more  satisfaction  out  of 
those  two  games  than  almost  any 
others. 

With  players  such  as  Weldon 
Humble,  Carl  Russ,  1.  W.  Magee, 
loe  Watson,  James  "Froggy"  Wil- 
liams, Ralph  Murphy,  and  Paul 
Giroski,  Rice  was  a  team  to  con- 
tend with  in  the  postwar  forties. 
In  1946,  with  many  of  the  prewar 
players  back  on  the  field,  Rice 
tied  for  first  place  in  the  con- 
ference with  Arkansas  and  went 
on  to  the  Orange  Bowl.  On  New 
Year's  Day  1947  the  Owls  de- 
feated the  Tennessee  Vols  8-0. 
Once  Rice  was  leading,  Neely 
played  very  conservative  football 
that  day,  and  when  some  criti- 
cized the  lack  of  excitement  in 
the  game,  it  is  rumored  that  the 
Rice  coach  said  that  if  they 
wanted  to  see  a  circus,  they 
should  have  gone  to  Sarasota 
(where  Ringling  Brothers  had 
their  winter  quarters).  In  1949 
Rice  was  ranked  fifth  in  the  na- 
tion, won  the  conference  outright 
with  a  record  of  nine  wins  and 
one  loss,  and  defeated  North  Car- 
olina in  the  Cotton  Bowl."^ 

In  those  years,  tickets  for  Rice 
games  in  the  old  38,000-seat  sta- 
dium were  at  a  premium,  and 
scalpers  were  asking  and  getting 
as  much  as  twenty  dollars  per 
ticket  in  1948  for  sellout  games 
such  as  those  against  Texas  and 
SMU.  A  drive  against  ticket  scal- 


pers that  year  netted  arrests  of  a 
San  Antonio  doctor,  an  Austin 
insurance  man,  an  Austin  golf 
pro,  and  three  University  of 
Texas  students.  The  new  stadium 
relieved  the  pressure.  A  Neely 
edict  solved  another  very  differ- 
ent problem.  To  protect  the  play- 
ing field  from  unnecessary  wear, 
no  hooved  animals  would  be  al- 
lowed on  the  Bermuda  grass  turf. 
That  included  Bevo,  the  Univer- 
sity of  Texas's  steer  mascot. 
Flowever,  neither  the  coach  nor 
the  university  could  solve  the 
problem  of  fans  who  came  over 
from  Louisiana  to  see  the  Rice- 
LSU  game.  On  their  way  home, 
many  were  stopped  for  speeding 
by  officers  of  the  Texas  Depart- 
ment of  Public  Safety.  They 
would  often  write  Coach  Neely 
to  complain  of  this  treatment  and 
ask  why  Neely  and  Rice  did  not 
"educate"  these  patrolmen  on  be- 
half of  the  Louisiana  boosters. 
Neely  usually  replied  that  he  was 
sorry,  but  he  had  no  jurisdiction 
over  the  police.'" 

Basketball  teams  also  fared 
well  through  the  1940s,  first  un- 
der coach  Buster  Brannon  (1939- 
1942)  and  then  Joe  Davis  (1943- 
1949),  winning  the  conference  in 
1940,  1942,  1943,  1944,  1945,  and 
1949.  From  1941  to  194s,  a  Rice 
Owl  was  always  on  the  All- 
American  list.  Bill  Closs  was 
named  to  the  roster  once,  and 
Bob  Kinney  and  Bill  Henry  both 
twice.  The  Rice  track  team  con- 
tinued to  win  individual  con- 
ference championships  with  Fred 
Wolcott,  Bill  Cummins,  Bill 
Christopher,  Augie  Erfurth, 
Harry  Coffman,  and  Tobin  Rote. 


And  tennis  starred  Bobby  Curtis, 
Jack  Rodgers,  Chick  Harris,  and 
Jack  Turpin."' 

By  1950,  the  future  for  Rice 
looked  very  bright.  The  campus 
was  expanding  in  both  numbers 
of  faculty  members  and  numbers 
of  buildings.  The  new  president 
had  steered  through  some  much- 
needed  reorganization  of  the 
administration,  and  the  new  cur- 
riculum was  calculated  to  produce 
the  kinds  of  students,  occupa- 
tions, and  knowledge  that  the  fu- 
ture would  require.  Although  the 
primary  emphasis  was  still  in  the 
sciences  and  engineering,  the 
new  curriculum  called  for  expan- 
sion in  the  humanities.  That  ex- 
pansion would  bring  the  Institute 
ever  closer  to  the  ideal  of  Edgar 
Odell  Lovett's  1912  vision: 

Accordingly  it  is  as  a  university 
that  the  Institute  proposes  to 
begin,  a  university  of  liberal  and 
technical  learning,  where  liberal 
studies  may  be  studied  liberally 
or  technically,  where  technical 
subjects  may  be  pursued  either 
technically  or  liberally,  where 
whatever  of  professional  training 
is  offered  is  to  be  based  as  far 
as  possible  on  a  broad  general 
education.'" 


CHAPTER      8 


A  Decade  of  Growth:  The  1950s 


Much  to  their  dehght,  the  board 
announced  in  1950  that  most  of 
the  goals  of  the  long-range  pro- 
gram adopted  in  1945  had  been 
accomplished,  five  years  ahead  of 
schedule.  The  Institute  had  ex- 
panded the  board,  increased  the 
number  of  faculty  and  provided 
raises  m  salary  and  benefits  for 
them,  added  ninety-one  semester 
courses  to  the  curriculum,  con- 
structed a  number  of  new  build- 
ings (including  a  library,  a 
gymnasium,  and  a  president's 
home  on  campus),  and  lowered 
the  student-teacher  ratio  to 
twelve  or  thirteen  to  one.  Real- 
ization of  these  aims  did  not 
mean  that  the  trustees  would 
rest  on  their  laurels.  The  board 
wanted  further  improvement  of 
the  salary  scale,  an  increase  in 
faculty  to  reach  and  maintain  a 
student-teacher  ratio  of  ten  to 
one,  expansion  in  research  ac- 
tivity, library  development,  more 
graduate  and  undergraduate 
scholarships,  a  higher  enrollment 
(about  2,000),  and  more  buildings 
to  house  and  teach  the  larger 


number  of  students  and  to  pro- 
vide research  facilities  for  both 
faculty  and  students.  Three 
million  dollars  in  gifts  had 
helped  accomplish  the  goals  set 
in  1945,  but  even  more  money 
was  needed  for  the  future.' 

In  195 1  estimated  annual  ex- 
penses for  Rice  amounted  to 
more  than  $1.6  million,  and  by 
1954  the  university  was  spending 
more  than  $2  million  a  year. 
Most  of  the  revenue  came  from 
income  on  investments;  the  rest 
came  from  student  fees,  research 
contracts,  donations  from  alumni, 
and  some  income  from  restricted 
funds.  By  1959  the  Institute  had 
more  than  $91.5  million  in  assets 
(including  a  physical  plant  valued 
at  more  than  $28  million),  in- 
come of  more  than  $4.7  million, 
and  expenditures  of  more  than 
$4.3  million.  In  the  decade  from 
1947-48  to  1958-59,  the  Rice 
Institute  burgeoned  from  a  small 
educational  operation  with  a  bud- 
get of  approximately  $1  million 
to  a  complicated  business  with  a 
quadrupled  budget.  Contrary  to 


uninformed  opinion,  the  univer- 
sity did  not  have  excess  money. 
The  board  still  carefully  watched 
all  expenditures,  as  it  had  from 
James  Baker's  time,  and  it  was 
looking  for  new  sources  of  in- 
come and  generous  donors.' 


Reorganizing  the  Board 

Since  at  least  1947,  board  mem- 
bers had  discussed  increasing 
their  own  number  and  using  help 
from  outside.  In  September  of 
that  year,  while  discussing  new 
accounting  procedures  and  the 
relocation  of  the  business  office, 
board  chairman  Harry  Hanszen 
had  proposed  that  the  Finance 
Committee  be  reorganized  and 
enlarged.  He  suggested  a  commit- 
tee of  five  or  six,  with  three  trust- 
ees and  two  or  three  outside 
members.'  Harry  Wiess  picked 
some  alumni  to  help  on  his 
Building  Committee  and  also  fa- 
vored expanding  the  number  of 
trustees,  but  the  board  took  no 
formal  action  then.  A  year  later 


The  1950s 


169 


it  was  clear  that  the  board, 
especially  its  chairman,  was 
overworked.  Hanszen  had  been 
devoting  almost  full  time  to  the 
Institute's  affairs,  and  his  ne- 
glected personal  activities  were 
demanding  his  attention  to  such 
an  extent  that  he  was  considermg 
resigning  from  the  board.  Harry 
Wiess  had  just  died,  and  George 
Brown,  looking  after  invest- 
ments, had  more  work  than  one 
person  could  manage.  In  fact,  the 
affairs  of  the  Institute  had  be- 
come so  complicated  that  the 
seven-man  board  could  not  han- 
dle them  adequately  as  a  com- 
mittee of  the  whole  or  by  sepa- 
rate committees  made  up  only  of 
trustees. 

In  a  memorandum  to  the  other 
members,  Lamar  Flemmg  pro- 
posed that  board  members  dele- 
gate authority  and  responsibility 
to  standing  committees  compris- 
ing both  trustees  and  nontrust- 
ees.  The  innovation  was  not 
unattractive;  mixed  committees 
would  enable  the  board  to  enlist 
the  community's  service  for  the 
Institute.  Fleming  suggested  the 
Harvard  plan,  whereby  trustees 
maintained  legal  ownership  and 
responsibility  as  the  charter  dic- 
tated, but  brought  in  others  as 
members  of  the  Board  of  Over- 
seers (or  officers  with  some  other 
title)  to  sit  with  the  trustees,  vote 
equally  with  them,  and  serve  on 
the  various  committees.* 

In  August  1949  the  board 
acted.  First  the  trustees  asked 
J.  Newton  Rayzor  to  fill  the  va- 
cancy created  by  Harry  Wiess's 
death;  after  Rayzor  accepted, 
they  voted  to  expand  to  a  fifteen- 
member  Board  of  Governors.  The 


new  board  consisted  of  the  seven 
trustees,  who  still  held  legal 
ownership  of  the  Institute,  and 
eight  governors,  each  of  whom 
served  a  term  of  four  years  and 
was  selected  by  a  majority  of  the 
trustees.  (The  governors  had  no 
vote  in  their  selection.)  Terms 
were  staggered  so  that  every  year 
two  new  governors  were  ap- 
pointed, and  the  "term  members" 
were  ineligible  for  reappointment. 
When  his  term  had  expired,  a 
governor  became  a  governor 
adviser  and  continued  to  advise 
the  university.  The  chairman 
of  the  Board  of  Trustees  also 
chaired  the  Board  of  Governors, 
and  committee  chairmen  were 
usually  trustees.  The  first  eight 
governors  were  Robert  R  Do- 
herty  Harmon  Whittington, 
Walter  L.  Goldston,  John  S.  Ivy 
Herbert  Allen,  L.  E.  Garfield, 
Francis  T  Fendley,  and  Robert  H. 
Ray.  The  first  committees  estab- 
lished under  the  new  plan  were 
the  Finance  Committee,  the  Oil 
Committee,  the  Buildings  and 
Grounds  Committee,  and  the 
Alumni  and  Student  Activity 
Committee.' 

After  George  Brown  became 
chairman  of  the  board  in  Febru- 
ary 1950  and  John  Ivy  was  named 
to  Hanszen's  place  after  the  lat- 
ter's  death,  membership  of  the 
Board  of  Trustees  changed  only 
twice  from  1951  to  1963.  Freder- 
ick R.  Lummis  retired  in  1955 
and  Gus  Wortham  in  1961.  To 
their  places  were  named  cotton 
expert  Harmon  Whittington 
and  oilman  Daniel  R.  Bullard, 
respectively. 

One  of  the  primary  goals  of  the 
new  board  was  to  seek  additional 


sources  of  funding  for  the  Insti- 
tute. To  be  sure,  funds  for  special 
purposes  had  come  to  the  school 
from  various  sources.  In  1950 
Sallie  Shepherd  Perkins  donated 
funds  to  endow  a  school  of  mu- 
sic, but  it  was  several  years  be- 
fore the  income  from  her  gift 
grew  sufficiently  to  maintain 
more  than  a  lectureship  and  a 
few  courses  in  music.  Olga  Keith 
Wiess  endowed  a  chair  of  geology 
m  memory  of  her  husband  Harry 
in  1952,  and  in  1954  she  gave 
still  more  to  construct  a  building 
with  a  laboratory  for  a  depart- 
ment of  geology.  In  1953  trustee 
J.  Newton  Rayzor  established  a 
chair  in  philosophy  and  religious 
thought;  Rayzor  also  wanted  to 
see  a  chapel  on  campus.  In  the 
same  year  the  Masterson  family 
began  the  endowment  of  a  chair 
of  history  in  memory  of  Harris 
Masterson,  Jr.,  the  chaplain  to 
Autry  House.  And  in  1958  Mrs. 
Reginald  Henry  Hargrove  do- 
nated funds  for  a  chair  of  eco- 
nomics in  memory  of  her  hus- 
band, a  Rice  alumnus  of  the  class 
of  1918." 

A  New  Emphasis  on 
Fund  Raising 

Such  donations  as  endowed 
chairs  and  bequests,  like  the  part 
of  the  Hanszen  estate  that  the  In- 
stitute received,  were  always  ap- 
preciated; but  more  money  was 
necessary  on  a  regular  basis  to 
fund  continued  expansion  and  to 
cover  expenses  of  the  enlarged 
educational  program.  It  was  clear 
that  the  university  had  to  make  a 
vigorous  effort  to  attract  donors 


I70 


The  lysos 


and  solicit  funds  from  many 
sources  if  it  was  to  continue  to 
operate  on  its  expanded  scale.  In 
195  ^  the  board  began  seriously  to 
consider  soliciting  contributions. 
The  Baker  board  had  been  reluc- 
tant to  request  funds  outside  of 
the  Rice  community  because  of 
possible  strings  attached  to  any 
donations;  in  contrast,  the  new 
board  looked  to  thriving  postwar 
Houston  for  aid. 

In  19s 3  Harmon  Whittington's 
Development  Committee  recom- 
mended a  program  to  attract  in- 
fluential friends  for  Rice,  and  the 
board  created  the  Rice  Institute 
Associates  in  1954-  The  purpose 
of  this  group  was  "to  provide  a 
channel  for  the  free  exchange  of 
ideas  between  the  students  and 
teachers  of  the  Institute  and  a 
group  of  representative  citizens 
who  have  been  influential  in 
civic,  cultural,  and  educational 
affairs  of  the  region."  Members 
would  also  advise  the  Institute 
on  its  development  and  help 
increase  its  service  to  the  com- 
munity. Membership  in  the  Asso- 
ciates came  by  invitation,  and 
some  alumni  who  had  worked  for 
Rice's  interests  through  the  years 
were  disappointed  not  to  receive 
one.  Newton  Rayzor  suggested 
forming  a  parallel  group  to  be 
known  as  the  Rice  Alumni  Asso- 
ciates, but  the  board  decided  in- 
stead to  invite  the  alumni  to  join 
the  group  that  was  already  con- 
stituted. The  membership  pledge 
was  $10,000,  paid  at  the  rate  of 
$1,000  per  year. 

The  Institute  also  turned  to  in- 
dustry as  a  source  of  funds.  In 
1955  the  board  established  the 
Rice  Institute  Research  Sponsors 


and  solicited  support  from  se- 
lected companies  at  the  rate  of 
$10,000  per  year  for  a  three-year 
period.  President  Houston  used 
this  discretionary  fund  to  train 
graduate  students  in  research 
methods,  to  support  new  re- 
search, and  to  purchase  research 
equipment.  The  program  also 
provided  business  contacts  and 
served  to  inform  companies 
about  the  research  being  done  on 
campus.  Research  Days,  when 
representatives  of  the  sponsors 
came  to  campus  to  see  where 
their  money  was  going,  were 
great  successes." 

Throughout  the  19SOS  Rice 
also  received  various  monetary 
grants.  Companies  began  to  sup- 
port research  and  students  in 
many  more  ways  than  through 
the  Research  Sponsors  program, 
and  Rice  benefited  from  grants 
and  scholarships  from  such  com- 
panies as  Union  Carbide,  Shell 
Oil,  Superior  Oil,  DuPont,  and 
Monsanto.  The  United  States 
government  also  awarded  funds 
for  research  and  fellowships. 
Many  private  individuals  and 
smaller  firms  established  scholar- 
ships and  fellowships  as  well, 
and  by  1959  there  were  seventeen 
graduate  fellowships  and  seventy- 
two  undergraduate  scholarships 
funded  by  these  individuals  and 
corporations  (many  of  them  mul- 
tiple awards)  and  given  out  under 
Institute  auspices.  These  totals 
do  not  include  noninstitutional 
awards,  such  as  the  Atomic  En- 
ergy Commission  Fellowships, 
made  directly  to  students  by  or- 
ganizations outside  the  campus.' 

One  of  the  continuing  goals  of 
the  board  was  to  raise  faculty  sal- 


aries, and  for  that  purpose  in 
19s  s  the  Ford  Foundation  awarded 
two  grants  to  the  Institute,  an 
Endowment  Grant  and  an  Accom- 
plishment Grant.  The  Endow- 
ment Grant  had  to  be  invested 
and  only  its  income  used  for  sal- 
aries for  a  period  of  ten  years, 
after  which  both  principal  and 
income  were  open  to  any  educa- 
tional use.  The  Accomplishment 
Grant  could  have  been  used  di- 
rectly, but  the  board  voted  to 
treat  it  as  an  endowment  also.  By 
1957  the  Ford  Foundation  had 
given  the  Institute  more  than 
$1  million  under  these  grants, 
and  Rice  was  better  able  to  com- 
pete with  other  schools  for  good 
faculty."' 

Growth  in  the 
Administration 

Increased  donations,  programs, 
and  grants  helped  to  realize  the 
board's  goals,  but  an  enlarged  and 
more  complicated  Institute  also 
meant  that  the  administration 
had  to  expand  to  handle  the  in- 
creased load.  Faculty  committees 
could  take  some  of  the  burden, 
but  the  administration  itself  grew 
slowly  yet  steadily. 

A  number  of  administrative 
changes  took  place  in  1950.  Dean 
Harry  B.  Weiser  retired  and  re- 
turned to  teaching  chemistry, 
and  in  his  place  President  Hous- 
ton appointed  Professor  George 
Holmes  Richter,  Rice  '26,  an- 
other chemist.  Hugh  S.  Cameron, 
dean  of  students,  died  suddenly 
during  the  summer,  and  Pro- 
fessor Guy  T  McBride,  a  chemi- 
cal engineer,  became  associate 


The  I9SOS 


171 


dean  of  students  that  fall.  Why 
McBride  was  named  associate 
dean  and  not  dean,  as  Cameron 
had  been,  is  something  of  a  mys- 
tery, but  his  title  is  usually  ex- 
plamed  by  the  tradition  that 
there  should  be  only  one  dean 
at  Rice,  the  dean  of  the  Insti- 
tute. When  McBride  left  in  19S8, 
lames  R.  Sims  became  adviser  to 
men,  an  office  that  despite  its 
name  retained  the  duties  of  a 
dean  of  students — disciplinarian 
of  the  campus.  Sarah  Lane  left 
the  office  of  adviser  to  women, 
which  she  had  occupied  since 
1 93 1,  but  remained  on  the  library 
staff.  That  office  saw  a  procession 
of  occupants  during  the  1950s: 
Betty  Rose  Dowden  (wife  of  Pro- 
fessor Wilfred  Dowden  of  the  En- 
glish department),  Clara  Margaret 
Mohr  Kotch  (Rice  '51),  Paula 
Meredith  Mosle  (Rice  '52),  and 
Nancy  Moore  Eubank  (Rice  '55). 
There  were  also  several  assistants 
to  the  president  during  Hous- 
ton's tenure:  lames  Morehead, 
William  H.  Masterson,  lohn  Par- 
ish, and  Thad  Marsh." 

Three  men  who  had  become 
institutions  at  Rice  left  the  uni- 
versity during  the  fifties.  William 
Ward  Watkin  died  in  1952,  John 
T.  McCants  retired  in  1953,  and 
Samuel  G.  McCann  retired  in 
I9S7-  These  three  figures  had 
probably  done  as  much  on  cam- 
pus as  Edgar  Odcll  Lovett  had  to 
keep  Rice  operating  smoothly, 
and  they  were  certainly  known 
personally  to  many  more  stu- 
dents and  teachers  than  any 
president  could  be.  It  took  a  num- 
ber of  people  to  replace  them. 
Changes  in  the  accounting  sys- 
tem and  movement  of  the  busi- 


ness office  onto  campus  had 
altered  greatly  the  duties  of  the 
bursar.  No  longer  did  he  have  in- 
dependent control  over  all  money 
spent  and  purchases  made.  The 
bursar's  functions  were  distrib- 
uted among  several  different  sec- 
tions. McCann  had  been  both 
registrar  and  director  of  admis- 
sions. In  1953  he  became  director 
of  admissions  only,  while  J.  D. 
Thomas  was  appointed  acting 
registrar  and  Michael  McEnany 
assistant  registrar.  In  1954  McEn- 
any became  registrar.  James  B. 
Giles  became  admissions  director 
in  1957.  Watkin  had  filled  a  num- 
ber of  posts,  including  chairman 
of  the  Committee  on  Outdoor 
Sports,  curator  of  buildings,  and, 
during  the  war,  civil  defense 
chairman,  in  addition  to  building 
the  architecture  department.  His 
activities  were  split  among  a 
number  of  people." 

In  1953  a  new  position  was  cre- 
ated in  the  administration.  The 
board  and  the  president  had  been 
looking  for  someone  to  head  the 
new  geology  department  that 
Mrs.  Wiess  had  established  in 
honor  of  her  late  husband.  They 
settled  on  Carey  Croneis,  who 
was  at  that  time  president  of  Be- 
loit  College  in  Beloit,  Wisconsin. 
Croneis  was  to  be  both  Harry 
Carothers  Wiess  Professor  of 
Geology  and  provost  of  the  Insti- 
tute. As  professor  of  geology,  his 
duties  were  clear — teaching,  con- 
tinuing his  research,  and  super- 
vising and  developing  the  new 
department.  As  provost,  his  re- 
sponsibilities were  vague.  Presi- 
dent Houston  wrote  Croneis  that 
his  duties  would  be  worked  out 
in  practice  and  would  concern 


the  interests  of  the  Institute  as  a 
whole.  Croneis  would  begin  by 
serving  on  the  Executive  Com- 
mittee and  helping  to  improve 
Rice's  public  relations.  It  appears 
that  chairing  the  Executive  Com- 
mittee and  acting  as  goodwill 
ambassador  for  the  Institute 
composed  the  greater  part  of 
the  provost's  duties;  academic 
matters  were  handled  by  the 
dean  and  the  president.  A  superb 
speaker,  the  popular  Croneis  rep- 
resented the  Institute  very  well." 

In  place  of  the  four  men  who 
had  run  the  Institute  under  Edgar 
Odell  Lovett,  there  were  eleven 
listed  as  officers  of  administra- 
tion in  the  1956  General  An- 
nouncements: they  included  an 
assistant  to  the  registrar,  the  bur- 
sar, and  the  development  assis- 
tant, in  addition  to  the  president, 
assistant  to  the  president,  pro- 
vost, dean,  associate  dean,  ad- 
viser to  women,  director  of 
admissions,  and  registrar.  While 
this  may  seem  to  be  a  significant 
increase  and  might  imply  a  high 
degree  of  organization,  that  was 
not  necessarily  the  case.  Rice  was 
still  a  highly  personal  institution 
where  matters  were  handled  di- 
rectly without  the  intrusion  of 
memoranda  and  complex  organi- 
zational tables.  In  fact,  when  a 
faculty  committee  attempted  in 
19s  3 -54  to  answer  a  Carnegie 
Foundation  questionnaire  on 
higher  education,  it  found  mak- 
ing up  a  normal  organizational 
chart  practically  impossible. 
There  were  no  "channels"  to 
speak  of.  Confusing  though  that 
might  have  been  to  outsiders,  it 
worked  for  Rice  at  the  time.'-' 

In  1955  the  duties  of  depart- 


172 


The  1950s 


> 


128.  Carey  Croneis.  at  various  times  professor  of  geology,  provost,  acting 
president,  and  chancellor  of  Rice. 


ment  chairman  were  specifically 
stated  and  entered  into  the  fac- 
ulty minutes  for  the  first  time. 
These  duties  included  the  prepa- 
ration of  a  departmental  budget 
and  recommendations  for  promo- 


tions. President  Houston  pointed 
out  that  the  chairman  had  full  re- 
sponsibility for  the  department, 
but  he  who  occupied  the  chair 
was  not  necessarily  to  be  re- 
garded as  chief  scholar  within 


the  department.  Houston  also 
thought  that  it  was  desirable  to 
rotate  the  chairmanship  from 
time  to  time.'* 


New  Faces  on  the  Faculty 

During  the  lysos  a  number  of 
faculty  members  made  their  first 
appearances  on  campus.  In  archi- 
tecture David  Parsons  and  Ander- 
son Todd  came,  and  in  chemistry 
Ronald  Sass  and  Richard  B.  Tur- 
ner, while  chemical  engineering 
hired  two  Rice  alumni,  Sam  H. 
Davis  and  Riki  Kobayashi.  John 
Merwin  joined  civil  engineering, 
John  H.  Auden,  economics,  and 
John  A.  S.  Adams,  geology.  Many 
will  remember  Jackson  Cope,  the 
poet  and  novelist  James  Dickey, 
Thad  Marsh,  and  John  B.  Pickard 
from  their  English  classes,  and 
Andrew  Muir,  William  Nelson, 
and  Frank  Vandiver  in  history. 
Franz  Brotzen  and  James  Wilhoit 
went  to  mechanical  engineering 
and  Konstantin  Kolenda  and 
Niels  Nielsen  to  philosophy. 
Harold  Rorschach  and  Calvin 
Class  joined  the  physics  depart- 
ment, as  did  Andrew  Bryan,  Rice 
'18,  who  returned  from  the  busi- 
ness community  to  the  campus. 

In  I9s8  the  fournal  of  Southern 
History,  the  scholarly  publication 
of  the  Southern  Historical  Asso- 
ciation, moved  to  Rice,  and  in 
i960  the  English  department 
started  a  new  quarterly.  Studies 
in  English  Literature:  isoo- 
igoo.  edited  by  Carroll  Camden.'" 

E.xpansion  of  departments  was 
a  continuous  activity  in  the 
1950s,  but  it  was  by  no  means  an 
explosion.  About  forty  people 


The  1950s 


173 


were  added  to  the  faculty  from 
1950  to  1959,  with  the  numbers 
spht  fairly  evenly  among  the  hu- 
manities, the  sciences,  and  engi- 
neering. The  new  element  was  an 
expansion  m  liberal  arts.  In  195 1 
the  administration  announced 
that  the  aim  of  the  university 
was  "to  raise  the  liberal  arts  and 
humanities  to  the  level  of  excel- 
lence and  breadth  of  coverage 
now  enjoyed  by  the  sciences," 
and  it  set  about  developing  a  pro- 
gram to  do  so.  The  library's  ac- 
quisition of  new  resources  for  the 
liberal  arts  also  made  possible 
more  and  better  courses.  Except 
for  a  single  doctorate  in  history 
awarded  in  1933,  the  only  higher 
degrees  in  the  humanities  offered 
by  the  Institute  had  been  mas- 
ter's degrees  in  history,  English, 
philosophy,  German,  the  Ro- 
mance languages,  and  architec- 
ture. In  1951  Rice  was  able  to 
offer  doctoral  programs  in  history 
and  English.  In  1954,  to  attract 
more  students  to  the  humanities, 
the  Board  of  Governors  estab- 
lished scholarships  amounting  to 
$300  each  for  fifteen  freshmen  in 
liberal  arts."" 

By  1959  the  faculty  was  of  such 
size  and  the  departments  of  such 
complexity  that  two  more  ad- 
ministrative positions  were  cre- 
ated, with  the  dual  purposes  of 
further  developing  graduate  pro- 
grams and  making  the  under- 
graduate departments  more  effec- 
tive. William  H.  Masterson  of  the 
history  department  was  named 
dean  of  humanities,  and  LeVan 
Griffis  from  the  Borg-Warner  Cor- 
poration became  dean  of  engi- 
neering. Richter  remained  dean 
of  the  Institute.  The  duties  of  the 


new  deanships  included  acquisi- 
tion of  new  faculty,  adjustment  of 
salaries  and  academic  ranks,  and 
distribution  of  office  space,  labo- 
ratories, equipment,  and  the  like,- 
but  the  positions  were  not  solely 
administrative.  Houston  expected 
these  men  to  teach  and  carry  on 
research  as  well. 

Also  in  1959,  the  Executive 
Committee  was  expanded  and  re- 
named the  Faculty  Council.  This 
council  was  composed  of  the 
president,  provost,  dean  of  the  In- 
stitute, deans  of  humanities  and 
engineering,  and  six  members 
elected  by  the  faculty  (two  each 
from  humanities,  engineering, 
and  science).  The  committee 
would  continue  to  advise  the 
president  on  matters  of  policy 
and  curriculum.  With  these 
changes  the  administration  began 
to  respond  to  the  more  compli- 
cated institution  that  Rice  had 
become.'" 


The  1950s  Building  Boom 

More  students  and  faculty  needed 
more  buildings,  and  Rice's  build- 
ing boom  continued  in  the  1950s. 
The  first  of  the  new  structures 
was  opened  in  1953;  it  housed  a 
six-million-volt  Van  de  Graaff  ac- 
celerator. In  1963  this  building 
was  named  in  honor  of  Professor 
Tom  Bonner,  who  died  in  1961. 
It  was  built  to  the  north  of  the 
physics  amphitheater,  across 
the  street.  Not  long  after  that, 
plans  were  made  for  two  lab- 
oratory buildings,  an  audito- 
rium, a  student  center,  and  more 
dormitories. 

The  laboratory  buildings,  one 


for  geology  funded  by  a  gift  of  $1 
million  from  the  daughters  of  the 
late  Harry  Wiess,  and  one  for  bi- 
ology financed  by  a  donation 
from  the  M.  D.  Anderson  Foun- 
dation, were  located  on  the  west- 
ern side  of  the  secondary  axis 
running  north-south  between  the 
men's  dormitories.  That  axis 
would  terminate  on  the  north 
with  a  new  auditorium.  In  Ham- 
man  Hall,  built  with  a  gift  from 
the  George  and  Mary  Josephine 
Hamman  Foundation,  the  Insti- 
tute finally  gained  a  real  stage  for 
music,  drama,  meetings,  and  lec- 
tures. The  new  buildings  opened 
in  1958  and  1959.  Architect  for 
all  three  was  George  F.  Pierce,  Jr., 
Rice  '42,  and  his  firm  of  Pierce 
and  Pierce.  For  the  stairwell  of 
the  Keith-Wiess  Geological  Labo- 
ratories, David  Parsons,  Rice's 
resident  artist,  created  a  metal 
mobile  sculpture  entitled  Uni- 
verse. For  the  walls  of  the  biology 
building  Parsons  molded  a  num- 
ber of  bricks  with  intaglio  de- 
signs representing  the  various 
phyla  of  animals."' 

While  the  biology  and  geology 
laboratories  were  being  built, 
across  the  street  to  the  south  of 
them  a  student  center  and  chapel 
complex  was  under  way.  Trustee 
J.  Newton  Rayzor  had  been  lob- 
bying the  board  for  a  chapel  since 
at  least  1949.  In  1953  he  had  sug- 
gested constructing  some  sort  of 
multipurpose  building  to  house  a 
chapel  and  the  Shepherd  School 
of  Music,  and  possibly  the  Hous- 
ton Symphony  Orchestra  as  well. 
Other  board  members  agreed 
with  Rayzor  that  a  chapel  was 
needed,  but  they  thought  that 
one  structure  would  not  be 


174 


The  1950s 


129.  A  view  of  Rice's  Van  de  Graaff  particle  accelerator- 
column,  with  the  pressure  tank  removed. 


■the  high  voltage 


^    enough  for  the  three  activities. 
They  decided  that  the  chapel 
should  be  considered  as  a  sepa- 
rate project. 

In  May  1 9  s  4  Rayzor  had  pointed 
out  again  that  a  chapel  was  one 
of  the  most  urgent  needs  on  cam- 
pus. Later  that  month,  Dr.  Hous- 
ton reported  on  a  meeting  of  a 
committee  that  was  planning  a 
memorial  to  the  students  and  for- 
mer students  who  had  died  in 
service  to  the  country.  He  stated 
that,  while  no  one  favored  a  me- 
morial monument  by  itself,  there 
was  much  enthusiasm  for  a  stu- 
dent union  building  dedicated  to 
those  lost.  Representatives  of  the 
class  of  1955,  which  had  lost 
eleven  of  its  members  in  a  naval 
airplane  crash  in  1953,  indicated 
a  special  interest  in  such  a  me- 
morial. Further  discussion,  both 
of  a  chapel  and  student  religious 
center  and  of  a  memorial  student 
union,  resulted  in  the  merging  of 
the  two.  The  Rice  Memorial  Stu- 
dent Center  was  designed  by  Har- 
vin  C.  Moore,  Rice  '27;  its  cor- 
nerstone dedicated  the  center  as  a 
memorial  for  "the  students  of 
Rice  who  have  brought  honor  to 
the  Institute  through  their  contri- 
butions to  the  welfare  of  man- 
kind and  of  those  who  have  given 
their  lives  in  the  service  of  our 
country."" 

Certain  questions  arose  in 
connection  with  the  planning  of 
a  chapel  and  a  student  union. 
The  Institute,  after  all,  had  been 
"aggressively  non-sectarian"  (to 
quote  Cram,  Goodhue  and  Fergu- 
son) from  its  inception,  and  the 
committee  studying  the  center's 
proposed  uses  and  the  activities 
to  be  housed  there  had  much  to 


The  1950s 


175 


discuss.  Their  decisions  were 
compHcated  by  the  need  to  deter- 
mine exactly  how  the  student 
union  would  be  used,  now  that  it 
was  definite  that  a  residential 
college  system  would  replace  the 
student  dormitories  (see  pp.  178- 
187).  The  Committee  on  Student 
Housing  that  was  studying  the 
college  system  did  not  think  that 
a  bookstore,  a  cafeteria,  and  of- 
fices for  student  associations, 
publications,  and  alumni  should 
be  in  the  same  building  as  a 
chapel.  Even  the  structure's  loca- 
tion and  the  possibility  that  such 
a  center  would  distract  attention 
from  the  colleges  came  under  dis- 
cussion. Eventually  the  center 
was  placed  in  a  line  with  the  new 
biology  and  geology  buildings.  It 
took  the  form  of  a  courtyard 
closed  on  three  sides  by  the  stu- 
dent center  itself,  a  cloister  with 
offices  opening  onto  it,  and  the 
chapel.  Located  within  the  center 
were  the  campus  store,  Sammy's 
(the  snack  bar  that  replaced  the 
small  and  very  crowded  Roost 
next  to  the  old  campus  store  in 
the  basement  of  the  library),  vari- 
ous offices  for  student  groups  and 
alumni,  and  a  large  ballroom.  =  ' 
Funds  came  from  Mr.  and  Mrs.  J. 
Newton  Rayzor,  from  the  book- 
store surplus,  and  from  alumni. 

Opening  in  1958,  the  Rice  Me- 
morial Student  Center  was  not 
an  instant  success  but  rather  an 
instant  failure.  Students  com- 
plained immediately:  it  was  too 
far  from  normal  activity  areas, 
especially  the  dormitories  and 
the  library;  it  was  too  sterile 
(considering  the  state  of  the  old 
Roost  in  the  Fondren  Library 
basement,  anything  merely  clean 


130.  The  Keith-Wiess  Geological  Laboiatoiy.  April  14,  1958. 


131.  Construction  of  Hamman  Hall,  i957- 


176 


The  1 9 SOS 


132.  Hamman  Hall,  a  view  of  the  nearly  completed  building.  April  14.  igsS. 


nv  Architect  Harvin  C.  Moore's  plans  for  the  Rice  Memorial  Student  Center 


The  1950s 


177 


134.  Construction  of  the  Rice  Mcnional  Stiulcnt  Center. 


1 3  s •  Interior  view  of  the  book^ 
opened. 


tore  m  the  student  center  shortly  after  it 


would  have  looked  sterile);  there 
was  nothing  to  do  there  and  no 
one  to  see,  and  the  addition  of 
some  Ping-Pong  tables,  a  pool 
table,  and  a  television  set  to  the 
barren,  concrete-floored  base- 
ment did  not  attract  many.  The 
center  did  have  its  uses,  though. 
Graduate  students,  faculty,  and 
nonresident  undergraduates  of- 
ten ate  lunch  and  played  bridge 
there,  and  various  groups  used 
the  Grand  Ballroom  for  dances 
and  meetings.  But  the  remote 
RMC  did  not  supplant  the  Sally- 
port or  the  library  lounge  as  the 
place  on  campus  to  meet  people." 
Other  small  physical  changes 
were  made  in  1957.  Dr.  Lovett's 
gravel  walks  were  paved  over 
with  pebble  concrete  sidewalks, 
the  roads  were  paved,  and  the 
traffic  pattern  changed  drasti- 
cally. Partly  at  the  instigation  of 
board  governor  f.  T  Rather,  Jr., 
the  board  decided  to  make  the 
campus  more  conducive  to  walk- 
ing than  it  had  been.  For  a  year  or 
so  before  the  asphalt  was  laid, 
barricades  were  erected  across 
several  roads  through  the  middle 
of  the  campus  to  prevent  auto- 
mobile traffic.  Many  students 
protested  the  alteration  of  their 
familiar  traffic  routes,  and  from 
time  to  time  someone  would 
blow  up  one  of  the  barricades 
with  an  explosive  charge.  By  the 
time  new  landscaping  was  com- 
plete, the  road  running  between 
the  third  entrance  on  Main  Street 
and  the  Mechanical  Laboratory 
had  been  blocked  at  its  junction 
with  the  south  part  of  the  cam- 
pus loop  road.  The  academic 
quadrangle  had  also  been  closed 
to  all  vehicles,  and  the  parking 


178 


The  1950s 


lots  in  front  of  the  Mechanical 
Lab  and  Lovett  Hall  had  been 
eliminated  in  favor  of  spacious 
lawns.  Although  new  parking 
lots  were  opened,  they  were  not 
sufficient;  convenient  parking 
places  were  soon  at  a  premium, 
and  some  of  those  who  did  not 
like  to  walk  took  up  bicycling." 

As  badly  needed  as  new  class- 
rooms and  laboratories,  perhaps 
more  so,  were  renovated  dormito- 
ries. With  the  exception  of  Wiess 
Hall,  all  of  the  dormitory  build- 
ings dated  from  the  first  days  of 
the  Institute  and  were  in  dilapi- 
dated condition.  Doors  had  been 
kicked  in  and  never  repaired, 
walls  needed  new  paint,  electric 
wires  hung  haphazardly,  bath- 
rooms had  out-of-date  and  often 
inoperative  plumbing,  and  very 
little  was  clean.  In  addition,  the 
dormitories  were  extremely  over- 
crowded. Freshmen  especially 
were  crammed  three  to  a  room — 
usually  a  room  that  scarcely  held 
two,  that  had  only  one  closet, 
and  that  provided  no  study  space 
at  all.  In  1952,  631  students  oc- 
cupied the  space  normally  meant 
for  551.  Students  and  faculty 
alike  compared  life  in  these  com- 
munities to  living  in  a  zoo.  The 
practice  of  hazing  flourished,  and 
any  intellectual  endeavor  was 
considered  by  some  to  be  strictly 
accidental.  Nothing  could  have 
been  further  from  Edgar  Odell 
Lovett's  concept  of  the  Rice 
residential  halls  as  gentlemen's 
clubs. '^ 

The  shabby  physical  condition 
of  the  dorms  was  due  partly  to 
student  negligence  and  partly  to 
Institute  neglect.  Once  damage 
had  been  done  to  a  room  and  not 


repaired,  the  successive  inhabi- 
tants had  felt  little  responsibility 
for  careful  treatment,  so  that  the 
buildings  deteriorated  progres- 
sively. The  deplorable  housing 
situation  was  the  culmination  of 
several  factors.  Dormitories  had 
been  severely  overcrowded  before 
Wiess  Hall  was  built  in  1947;  al- 
though the  new  dorm  alleviated 
the  strain  somewhat,  subsequent 
growth  in  enrollment  had  can- 
celed out  the  gain.  Furthermore, 
the  new  five-year  engineering 
curriculum  had  added  approx- 
imately fifty  students  a  year  to 
the  dormitory  load.  Not  only 
were  more  students  being  admit- 
ted, but  a  higher  percentage  were 
from  out  of  town.  The  postwar 
growth  of  the  University  of  Hous- 
ton attracted  many  of  the  gradu- 
ates from  Houston  high  schools 
who  in  the  past  would  have 
looked  to  Rice,  thus  relieving 
pressure  on  the  Institute  to  act  as 
the  sole  institution  of  higher 
learning  for  Houstonians.  That, 
plus  the  actions  of  several  groups 
connected  with  the  Institute,  in- 
cluding the  faculty,  encouraged 
young  people  from  out  of  town 
and  out  of  state  to  apply  to  Rice. 
Considering  the  pressure  of  dorm 
life,  hazing,  and  the  distractions 
of  other  extracurricular  activities, 
it  was  no  wonder  that  freshman 
grades  suffered." 

Vitally  interested  in  alleviating 
the  dormitory  situation  were  the 
associate  dean  of  students,  Guy 
T  McBride,  and  the  chairman  of 
the  board,  George  R.  Brown.  In 
1953  Brown  stated  that  the  most 
important  project  for  the  Devel- 
opment Committee  was  to  in- 
crease dormitory  facilities,  and 


the  board  committees  on  grounds 
and  buildings  and  on  alumni  and 
student  activity  met  to  investi- 
gate the  construction  of  addi- 
tional housing.  McBride  had 
talked  to  Dr.  Lovett  and  read 
what  Lovett  had  written  in  The 
Book  of  the  Opening  about  the 
residential  college  system;  he 
then  wrote  a  memorandum  to 
President  Houston  proposing  that 
Rice  embrace  the  college  system 
to  improve  not  only  the  physical 
conditions  within  the  halls  but 
the  intellectual  conditions  as 
well.'" 


The  Residential  College 
System 

Lovett  had  envisioned  a  system 
of  residential  colleges  at  Rice  like 
the  one  Woodrow  Wilson  had 
planned  for  Princeton,  which 
adapted  the  English  residential 
college  to  American  undergradu- 
ate life.  Unlike  the  British  mod- 
els, colleges  at  the  Institute 
would  not  have  any  fundamental 
educational  responsibility;  that 
belonged  to  the  Institute  itself. 
Instead,  they  would  offer  educa- 
tion of  a  more  informal  nature: 
intellectual  stimulation,  fel- 
lowship, competition,  social 
activities,  democratic  self- 
government.  By  the  1950s  several 
schools — Harvard  University, 
Yale  University,  the  California  In- 
stitute of  Technology,  and  a  few 
others — had  residential  colleges, 
some  quite  different  from  the 
others,  some  with  only  subtle 
differences.  The  nature  of  Rice's 
system  remained  hazy." 


The  1950s 


179 


After  a  committee  under  the 
chairmanship  of  governor  Her- 
bert Allen  had  thoroughly  stud- 
ied the  costs  for  new  dormitory 
and  dmmg  facilities  under  a  col- 
lege system,  the  board  adopted  a 
program  in  September  1954-  New 
dormitories  for  225  men  and  100 
women  would  be  constructed; 
the  program  stipulated  that  hous- 
ing for  125  more  men  would  be 
built,  once  there  was  sufficient 
demand.  There  was  no  rush  to 
complete  the  scheme;  the  board 
wanted  it  to  be  carefully  planned 
and  executed.  They  expected 
completion  with  occupancy  in 
1956-57.  As  it  turned  out,  plan- 
ning and  construction  took  every 
bit  of  the  time  allotted.'" 

To  formulate  a  plan  for  the  or- 
ganization, administration,  and 
supervision  of  the  colleges.  Dr. 
Houston  appointed  a  faculty- 
student  Committee  on  Student 
Housing  with  Dean  McBride  as 
chairman.  It  included  faculty 
members  from  a  number  of  de- 
partments, along  with  the  adviser 
to  women,  representatives  from 
the  Student  Council,  and  a  new 
group,  the  Women's  Hall  Com- 
mittee. J.  Newton  Rayzor  at- 
tended several  meetings  and 
worked  closely  with  the  commit- 
tee. Members  of  the  board  and  of 
the  committee  traveled  through- 
out the  United  States  to  visit 
schools  with  college  systems.  Of 
primary  interest  were  those  at 
the  California  Institute  of  Tech- 
nology and  Yale  University,  but 
the  committee  also  visited  such 
schools  as  Wellesley  College, 
Radcliffe  College,  and  Harvard 
University."' 

Planning  the  colleges  involved 


elements  from  the  elevated  to  the 
trivial,  from  discussions  of  what 
constituted  a  college  and  how  to 
build  "collegiate  homes  for  hu- 
man living"  to  the  proper  dress 
for  the  college  lobby  or  breakfast. 
The  committee  reached  some 
conclusions  quickly.  They  de- 
cided that  certain  factors  charac- 
terized a  college:  group  living  and 
dining,  traditions,  student  gov- 
ernment, continuity,  a  master  in 
residence,  group  social  affairs, 
and  athletic  and  intellectual 
competition.  Committee  mem- 
bers also  identified  two  "deficien- 
cies" in  the  typical  Rice  under- 
graduate that  they  hoped  the 
colleges  would  remedy:  "a  lack  of 
a  sense  of  social  concern;  not  just 
a  vague  sympathy  but  rather  an 
informed  sense  of  responsibility 
in  the  spheres  of  community  ac- 
tion, from  the  family  unit  to  af- 
fairs of  national  global  scope.  .  . 
[and]  a  deficiency  in  broad  intel- 
lectual curiosity.""" 

In  line  with  these  observations, 
the  committee  decided  that  cer- 
tain provisions  should  be  built 
into  the  system.  A  large  dining 
room  and  a  lounge  would  allow 
student  gatherings,  especially  for 
that  most  important  reminder  of 
the  college's  unity,  the  daily  meal 
shared  by  all  residents  at  one 
time.  These  implied  buildings  of 
a  certain  size  and  configuration. 
To  place  responsibility  on  the 
student  wherever  possible,  a 
strong  student  government  would 
be  established  in  each  college  to 
initiate  and  maintain  social  and 
intellectual  activities,  competi- 
tions, and  traditions,  as  well  as  to 
enforce  discipline.  The  commit- 
tee hoped  to  correct  the  other  de- 


ficiency noted  in  its  report  by 
encouraging  increased  intellec- 
tual contact  with  teachers  out- 
side the  classroom;  both  married 
and  unmarried  faculty  members 
would  reside  in  the  colleges.  A 
study  by  the  faculty  Committee 
on  Educational  Inquiry  had  re- 
vealed that  students  thought  con- 
tact with  the  faculty  outside  the 
classroom  had  usually  proved 
unpleasant,  although  they  still 
desired  it.  Perhaps  natural  in- 
formal interaction  in  a  domes- 
tic environment  would  be  more 
agreeable. 

The  committee  had  an  am- 
bitious program  for  the  system. 
They  wanted  an  atmosphere  like 
that  of  Lovett's  "gentlemen's 
club,"  a  home  away  from  home. 
They  wanted  to  foster  maturity 
in  the  students,  as  well  as  a  sense 
of  responsibility  for  the  welfare 
of  the  group  and  the  individual. 
They  wanted  to  provide  an  en- 
vironment conducive  to  discus- 
sion of  ideas  and  suitable  organi- 
zation for  the  development  of 
student  leaders.  They  hoped  that 
the  colleges  would  make  a  posi- 
tive contribution  to  the  students' 
lives." 

In  its  basic  deliberations  on  the 
college  system,  the  committee 
originally  considered  establishing 
only  four  colleges  (based  on  the 
four  existing  dormitories),  and 
these  were  to  be  only  for  men. 
The  planned  women's  dormitory 
had  its  own  problems,  but  at  the 
beginning  of  its  study  the  com- 
mittee concentrated  on  the  men's 
facilities.  That  the  Institute  fi- 
nally established  a  women's 
college  at  the  same  time  is  due 
largely  to  the  efforts  of  trustee 


i8o 


The  1 9 SOS 


].  Newton  Rayzor  and  two  suc- 
cessive advisers  to  women,  Clara 
Margaret  Mohr  Kotch  and  Paula 
Meredith  Mosle.'=  They  con- 
vinced the  others  that  if  Rice  was 
going  to  have  a  workable  college 
system,  the  arrangement  needed 
to  apply  to  everyone  on  campus 
from  the  beginning. 

The  number  of  students  resid- 
ing in  each  college  was  fairly  well 
determined  by  the  existing  dor- 
mitories. East,  South,  and  West 
Halls  housed  no  students  and 
Wiess  housed  220,  so  it  was  ob- 
vious from  an  architectural  stand- 
point that  college  size  should  be 
some  multiple  of  no.  The  com- 
mittee decided  that  220  would  be 
ideal,  because  that  number  was 
small  enough  to  be  responsive  to 
a  single  master  but  large  enough 
to  include  all  types  of  students 
and  thus  maintain  a  democratic 
college  and  campus.  (The  com- 
mittee wanted  to  avoid  any  sem- 
blance of  exclusivity  or  a  fra- 
ternity atmosphere  about  the 
colleges.)  It  finally  recommended 
to  the  board  a  building  program 
that  provided  for  four  colleges  of 
220  students  each,  using  Wiess 
Hall  as  one  and  increasing  the 
size  of  the  other  three.  This  total 
of  880  was  105  more  than  the  ini- 
tial board  plan  but  within  the 
eventual  total  number  that  the 
board  had  in  mind.  The  commit- 
tee was  certain  that  the  addi- 
tional places  would  not  go  empty, 
as  there  was  already  considerable 
demand  from  town  students  to 
live  in  the  dorms.  ' 

Essential  for  the  success  of  the 
system,  the  committee  thought, 
were  the  master  and  his  wife,  be- 
cause they  would  be  the  primary 


ones  responsible  for  achieving 
the  goals  of  social  concern  and 
intellectual  curiosity.  It  was  there- 
fore important  to  choose  the 
masters  with  great  care;  the  com- 
mittee recommended  that  they 
be  chosen  from  the  ranks  of  full 
professors.  Although  the  commit- 
tee originally  thought  that  mas- 
ters, faculty  fellows,  and  student 
officers  would  handle  disciplin- 
ary matters,  the  final  report  em- 
phasized that  masters  were  not  to 
be  thought  of  as  disciplinarians. 
Fellows  were  left  out  of  the  pro- 
cess altogether.  As  in  the  first 
dormitories,  the  students  them- 
selves were  to  be  responsible  for 
discipline,  though  serious  infrac- 
tions would  be  dealt  with,  as 
they  always  had  been,  by  the 
dean  of  students.  The  master  re- 
tained overall  responsibility  for 
student  life  in  his  college,  but  his 
mam  duties  were  to  counsel  stu- 
dents, provide  an  example,  and 
advise  student  committees.  The 
committee  further  recommended 
that  each  master  be  provided 
with  a  house  next  to  his  college 
but  physically  separated  from  it.  - 
Other  faculty  members  were  to 
be  associated  with  the  colleges, 
either  as  residents  or  nonresi- 
dents. Called  "fellows"  at  first, 
these  people  soon  came  to  be 
known  as  "faculty  associates." 
The  committee  saw  the  associ- 
ates' function  as  stimulating  in- 
tellectual and  cultural  interests 
and  advising  the  students  and 
master  when  asked  to  do  so. 
They  were  to  join  a  college  by 
invitation  from  the  master  and 
college  members,  and  the  com- 
mittee recommended  that  each 
college  have  at  least  fifteen  non- 


resident and  two  to  four  resident 
associates.' 

Most  decisions  could  be  made 
simply,  but  the  committee  spent 
a  number  of  meetings  discussing 
how  a  freshman  would  join  a  col- 
lege. At  first  a  separate  dormitory 
was  envisioned  for  freshmen, 
who  would  then  join  a  college  in 
their  sophomore  year  after  com- 
petition among  the  colleges  for 
"desirable  freshmen."  Militating 
against  this  idea  were  the  cost  of 
such  a  facility  in  addition  to  the 
planned  expansion  of  the  colleges- 
to-be,  and  the  fraternity-like 
atmosphere  that  such  compe- 
tition would  engender.  The 
committee  investigated  moving 
freshmen  from  one  college  to  an- 
other during  the  year  and  allow- 
ing them  to  choose  one  at  the 
end  of  that  time,  but  the  clear 
disadvantages  in  such  upheavals 
soon  shelved  that  proposition. 
Even  inviting  freshmen  to  dine  at 
other  colleges  before  they  made 
their  final  decision  seemed  too 
much  like  fraternity  rushing.  Fi- 
nally the  committee  decided  to 
assign  freshmen  arbitrarily  to  the 
colleges  upon  admission,  guaran- 
teeing them  the  right  to  request 
one  transfer  (but  no  college  could 
invite  such  a  transfer).  Masters 
and  associates  were  to  make  the 
assignments  after  consulting  the 
student  college  officers,  taking 
care  to  distribute  students  by  ma- 
jor and  geographical  section  of 
the  country  to  avoid  any  con- 
centration in  one  college.  An  in- 
coming freshman  could  ask  for 
placement  in  a  certain  college, 
but  he  was  not  guaranteed  that 
his  request  would  be  granted.  In 
the  placement  system  that  was 


The  1950s 


181 


finally  adopted,  a  new  student 
was  allowed  to  request  the  col- 
lege in  which  a  brother  was  en- 
rolled, and  two  freshmen  friends 
could  request  assignment  to- 
gether but  could  not  designate  a 
specific  college.  The  committee 
was  determined  to  provide  a  bal- 
anced environment  in  which  in- 
dividuals could  find  new  friends 
from  all  geographical  regions  and 
from  all  academic  fields.'" 

Although  there  was  an  early 
suggestion  that  town  students 
have  a  college  of  their  own  cen- 
tered around  a  student  union,  the 
committee  decided  in  the  end 
that  all  town  students  and  trans- 
fers were  to  be  assigned  to  col- 
leges in  the  same  manner  that 
out-of-town  students  were.  They 
would  have  all  the  rights,  privi- 
leges, and  responsibilities  of  resi- 
dent college  members,  with  a  few 
exceptions  concerning  certain 
college  offices.  The  committee 
also  hoped  that  town  students 
would  eat  meals  at  their  col- 
leges, especially  on  those  special 
evenings  designated  as  College 
Nights." 

Endeavoring  to  resolve  as  many 
details  as  possible  for  the  colleges 
before  they  opened,  the  commit- 
tee set  up  two  subcommittees  on 
student  activities.  One  recom- 
mended appropriate  social  and 
sports  activities  and  even  told 
college  officers  to  survey  their 
members  before  formulating  final 
plans.  (The  committee  included  a 
planning  schedule  for  the  first 
year.)  The  other  subcommittee 
wrote  a  model  college  constitu- 
tion, which  established  a  repre- 
sentative government  in  a  college 
Cabinet  with  executive,  legisla- 


tive, and  judicial  duties.  The 
Cabinet  was  to  meet  regularly, 
supervise  all  the  various  college 
activities  and  committees,  and 
control  room  assignments.'" 

If  a  college  system  was  impor- 
tant for  the  men,  it  was  equally 
important — perhaps  more  sig- 
nificant— for  the  women.  From 
the  beginning  of  the  Institute, 
women  had  usually  been  left  to 
find  their  own  housing.  They 
could  often  obtain  lists  of  reputa- 
ble boarding  houses  or  rentable 
rooms  from  Mr.  McCants'  office 
or  from  the  adviser  to  women, 
but  otherwise  they  had  to  fend 
for  themselves.  Many  boarded 
with  the  families  of  present  or 
past  Rice  students,  or  lived  at 
home.  Partly  because  of  these 
conditions,  most  women  stu- 
dents at  Rice  were  from  Houston. 
In  195 1  only  65  of  the  300  women 
enrolled  were  from  out  of  town. 

That  year  the  adviser  to  women, 
Betty  Rose  Dowden,  recom- 
mended that  the  Institute  con- 
vert some  of  Its  property  into 
housing  for  female  students.  The 
Institute  had  bought  a  block  of 
apartments  on  Banks  Street  in 
1948,  originally  intending  to  pro- 
vide housing  facilities  for  faculty; 
postwar  housing  had  not  kept 
up  with  Houston's  population 
growth,  and  new  professors  had 
found  housing  difficult  during 
their  first  years  at  Rice.  By  195 1 
the  housing  shortage  had  eased, 
and  some  of  the  Banks  Street 
apartments  were  vacant;  Mrs. 
Dowden  wished  to  use  them  for 
women.  The  board  agreed,  and  60 
young  women  moved  into  the 
apartments  under  the  watchful 
of  Margaret  Dunn,  the  house- 


mother. Curfews  were  estab- 
lished— the  women  had  to  be  in 
by  11:30  P.M.  on  weekdays  and 
2;oo  A.M.  on  Saturday  nights — 
and  neither  liquor  nor  men  were 
allowed  in  the  apartments. 

After  the  committee  decided  to 
include  the  proposed  women's 
dormitory  in  the  college  system, 
the  members  realized  that  the 
number  of  women  who  desired 
housing  would  greatly  exceed  the 
number  of  spaces  in  the  new  dor- 
mitory. Paula  Meredith  Mosle, 
who  was  adviser  to  women  in 
1955,  was  authorized  to  find 
some  additional  temporary  hous- 
ing. She  discovered  that  the  Town 
and  Country  Apartments  on 
HMC  Street  were  willing  to  lease 
several  units  to  the  school.  Clara 
Morrow  was  housemother  for 
the  accommodations  there,  from 
which  a  bus  transported  so 
women  back  and  forth  to  classes. 
Security  in  both  apartment  houses 
left  a  great  deal  to  be  desired,  and 
more  than  one  mother  must  have 
wondered  what  she  was  leaving 
her  daughter  to  after  seeing  the 
facilities.  However,  the  women 
came  back;  and  by  1955,  124  out- 
of-town  women  were  among  the 
355  female  students  enrolled.'" 

In  May  1955  the  Committee 
on  Student  Housing  presented  its 
second  interim  report,  this  one 
on  residence  halls  for  women.  For 
a  number  of  reasons,  the  com- 
mittee had  not  initially  planned 
for  a  women's  college.  For  one 
thing,  only  one  residential  unit 
was  to  be  built,  housing  only  100 
women.  That  meant  that  there 
could  be  no  competition  between 
colleges  for  members,  as  was 
originally  planned  for  the  men's 


l82 


The  19  SOS 


136.  The  Banks  Street  apartments  for  Rice  women. 


colleges.  Since  the  dormitory 
would  house  only  one-third  of 
the  female  student  population, 
the  committee  thought  it  impos- 
sible to  define  an  absolute  center 
of  women's  college  life.  The  new 
dormitory  would  instead  provide 
a  sound  basis  for  a  residential 
campus  system  once  more  dor- 
mitories for  women  were  built. 

In  the  minds  of  the  committee 
members,  the  existence  of  "strong 
female  social  organizations,"  the 
literary  societies,  also  negated 
the  need  for  immediate  college 
facilities  for  women.  While  the 
committee,  which  was  all  male 
except  for  the  incumbent  adviser 
to  women  and  Sarah  Lane,  was 
unwilling  to  let  any  hint  of  frater- 
nities into  the  men's  colleges,  it 
is  interesting  that  they  ignored 
the  societies'  resemblance  to  so- 


rorities, which  could  be  as  divi- 
sive among  the  women  as  frater- 
nities among  the  men.  Once  the 
committee  decided  to  assign 
freshmen  arbitrarily  to  colleges, 
the  first  reason  for  excluding 
women  from  the  college  system 
was  no  longer  valid;  but  the 
second  impediment,  the  cost  of 
building  a  dormitory  for  220 
women  instead  of  the  100  autho- 
rized by  the  board,  remained. 

College  or  not,  the  creation  of 
a  women's  residence  hall  necessi- 
tated answering  other  questions 
that  had  not  arisen  regarding  the 
men's  dormitories.  First,  its  site 
had  to  be  established.  Some  on 
the  committee  favored  a  location 
between  the  President's  House 
and  Abercrombie  Laboratory; 
others  recommended  a  spot  be- 
tween Cohen  House  and  the  Gate 


Number  2  entrance  off  Mam 
Street.  The  board  decided  instead 
to  place  the  dormitory  between 
the  President's  House  and  Sunset 
Boulevard.  There  was  more  space 
on  that  side  of  the  campus  for 
future  expansion  of  facilities 
that  would  eventually  house  440 
women. 

While  it  seemed  to  be  taken  for 
granted  after  McBride's  original 
memorandum  that  each  men's 
college  would  have  a  master,  the 
motion  that  the  women's  halls 
also  have  a  master  and  family  liv- 
ing nearby  was  not  introduced 
and  passed  until  May  195s.  In  its 
interim  report,  the  committee 
stated  Its  strong  belief  in  the  im- 
portance of  the  master  and  his 
family  to  the  women's  hall  en- 
vironment; it  also  recommended 
that  "an  unmarried  woman  of 
faculty  status"  live  in  the  wom- 
en's dormitory.  At  that  time,  of 
course,  the  women's  residence 
hall  was  not  yet  designated  a  col- 
lege, and  there  was  no  unmarried 
woman  of  faculty  status  to  serve 
as  hall  resident.^  Such  a  woman 
would  have  to  be  hired  first. 

As  early  as  February  1955  the 
committee  agreed  that  accom- 
modations for  200  women  would 
be  better  than  the  100  autho- 
rized. Women's  applications 
were  expected  to  increase,  and 
the  committee  wished  to  pre- 
serve the  existing  ratio  of  men  to 
women  in  the  student  body.  But 
money  was  allotted  for  only  one 
dormitory  unit.  In  November 
195  s  Houston  Endowment,  Inc., 
gave  the  Institute  funds  for  a 
women's  dormitory  to  be  known 
as  the  Mary  Gibbs  lones  College 
for  Women,  in  honor  of  Mrs. 


The  1950s 


183 


"^^ 


^ 


137.  Construction  of  Mary  Gibbs  lanes  College,  March  5.  1957. 


Jesse  H.  Jones.  From  that  point 
on,  women  students  had  an  equal 
place  on  the  Rice  campus. 

Not  long  afterward,  in  July 
1956,  the  board  voted  to  name 
the  men's  colleges  in  honor  of 
some  of  the  Institute's  major  ben- 
efactors. East  Hall  became  James 
A.  Baker  College,  South  Hall  be- 
came Will  Rice  College  (after 
William  M.  Rice,  Jr.),  and  West 
Hall  became  Harry  Clay  Hanszen 
College.  Wiess  Hall  had  already 
been  named  for  Harry  C.  Wiess.-' 

Dr.  Houston  finally  appointed 
masters  for  the  various  colleges, 
and  true  to  Rice  tradition,  none 
of  them  knew  that  the  president 
had  him  in  mind  until  Houston 
made  the  offer.  The  men  chosen 
were  William  H.  Masterson,  pro- 
fessor of  history,  for  Hanszen; 
James  Street  Fulton,  professor  of 
philosophy,  for  Will  Rice;  Roy  V. 
Talmage,  professor  of  biology,  for 
WiesS;  Carl  R.  Wischmeyer,  asso- 
ciate professor  of  electrical  engi- 


neering, for  Baker;  and  Calvin  M. 
Class,  associate  professor  of  phys- 
ics, for  Jones.  The  new  masters 
were  at  a  disadvantage  in  that 
they  had  not  taken  part  in  any  of 
the  Committee  on  Student  Hous- 
ing's planning,  but  they  had  the 
committee's  report.  Although 
much  of  it  seemed  unrealistic  to 
at  least  one  master,  the  report 
was  better  than  nothing.'' 

In  March  1957,  after  room  as- 
signments, briefings,  and  elec- 
tions, the  students  moved  into 
their  colleges.  The  administra- 
tion had  decided  to  inaugurate 
the  system  in  the  spring  instead 
of  waiting  until  fall,  because  con- 
struction had  progressed  so  well. 
Certain  shortages  still  existed, 
however,  and  the  women  in  Jones 
Hall  had  almost  no  furniture  for 
about  six  weeks. 

Some  rules  and  customs  ap- 
plied to  all  colleges,  both  men's 
and  women's.  No  visitors  of  the 
opposite  sex  were  allowed  in  the 


rooms  of  any  college  except  dur- 
ing Sunday  Open  House,  and  all 
colleges  had  a  seated  evening 
meal,  served  family  style,  with 
freshmen  as  waiters.  In  addition, 
the  women  were  governed  by 
some  rules  that  applied  only  to 
them.  They  had  strict  require- 
ments for  dress  in  the  Commons 
and  lobbies;  Rice  was  still  a  very 
dressy  school  for  women.  They 
also  had  a  curfew.  The  hours  es- 
tablished for  the  apartments, 
1 1:30  P.M.  weekdays  and  2:00 
A.M.  on  Saturday  night,  were  re- 
tained. Restrictive  though  these 
hours  seemed  to  some,  they  were 
quite  liberal  for  the  1950s  and  for 
the  state.  (Most  Texas  colleges 
required  their  women  students  to 
be  in  much  earlier.)  Rice  went 
from  one  extreme  to  another  con- 
cerning women's  housing  rules. 
Earlier,  no  women  lived  on  cam- 
pus; soon  a  women  could  not  live 
off  campus  outside  her  parents' 
home  without  the  Institute's 
permission. 

The  introduction  of  the  college 
system  brought  about  a  political 
revolution  on  campus.  Until 
1957  student  affairs  had  been 
handled  by  the  class  organiza- 
tions, but  the  classes  clearly  had 
little  place  in  the  colleges.  When 
the  Campanile  announced  in 
February  1958,  during  the  first 
full  year  of  the  system,  that  stu- 
dents' pictures  would  appear 
with  their  colleges  instead  of 
their  classes,  protest  resulted  in 
a  referendum  in  which  the  col- 
lege arrangement  won  by  a  slim 
margin.  Confhct  between  the 
Student  Council  and  the  Inter- 
College  Council  followed  soon 
after,  and  again  the  college  sys- 


138.  A  1917  vicw  ui  tiiL  RiLL  iu-.iiUiU  lii'iinitones.  which  became  colleges  in  I9?7.  Left  to  right:  Hanszcn  College 
Iformerly  West  Hall),  Will  Rice  College  iSouth  Hall).  Baker  College  Commons  torigmallv  the  dining  area  for  all  the 
dormitories),  and  Baker  College  Iformerly  East  Hall}. 


tern  won.  After  a  fierce  cam- 
paign, students  passed  a  new 
constitution  for  the  Student 
Association  that  created  a  Stu- 
dent Senate  composed  mostly  of 
college  officers.  The  Senate  com- 
prised executive  officers  elected 
campus-wide,  along  with  the 
freshman  class  president,  the  five 
college  presidents,  and  two  other 
representatives  from  each  college. 
Class  officers  were  still  elected 
each  year,  but  they  had  little  to 
do  beyond  arranging  a  few  social 
activities. "'■ 

Although  the  final  report  ot  the 


Committee  on  Student  Housing 
stated  specifically  that  masters 
were  not  to  be  thought  of  as  dis- 
ciplinarians, practice  did  not  al- 
ways conform  to  theory.  College 
discipline  was  a  gray  area.  Prece- 
dent laid  the  keeping  of  order 
first  in  the  hands  of  the  Hall 
Committee  (now  the  college  gov- 
ernment) and  then  with  the  dean 
of  students.  The  master's  respon- 
sibility was  vague.  No  one  really 
knew  what  a  master  was  sup- 
posed to  do.  When  President 
Houston  asked  William  H.  Mas- 
terson  to  become  master  of  Hans- 


zen,  the  professor  asked  what  a 
master  did.  "I  don't  really  know," 
Houston  replied,  "whatever  you 
find  useful."  The  lack  of  clearly 
defined  responsibilities  some- 
times resulted  in  conflict  be- 
tween a  master  and  the  dean  of 
students  (whatever  his  title). 
While  James  R.  Sims  was  adviser 
to  men,  he  considered  anything 
that  occurred  outside  a  college  to 
be  his  province,  and  anything  in- 
side the  college  to  be  the  mas- 
ter's province.  It  appears  that 
jurisdictions  were  not  finally  ad- 
judicated until  1963,  when  a 


The  1950s 


185 


139.  Wiess  College,  construction  substantially  completed.  Janu 


'ary  j.  i9<;o. 


memorandum  from  President 
Pitzer  to  masters  and  deans  de- 
lineated the  responsibihties  and 
interrelations  of  the  masters, 
the  dean  of  women,  and  the  dean 
of  students.  For  their  mternal 
order,  the  colleges  developed 
their  own  judicial  systems  and  in 
1962-63  created  an  Inter-College 
Court  to  handle  disputes  be- 
tween colleges." 

Including  off-campus  college 
members  m  the  new  organization 
proved  to  be  difficult.  At  first 
there  were  many  upperclassmen 
who  were  uninterested  in  their 


assigned  colleges  and  who  did 
not  take  part  in  their  activities. 
An  increase  in  college-sponsored 
social  activities  and  a  change  in 
attitude  as  new  students  entered 
an  established  system  helped 
somewhat,  but  the  colleges  did 
not  find  the  key,  if  any  existed,  to 
attract  and  hold  the  interest  of 
nonresident  students. 

A  1 96 1  Thresher  review  of  the 
college  system  after  four  years 
pointed  out  the  lack  of  inter- 
college  competition  in  academic 
endeavors.  President  Lovett's 
dream  of  debating  societies  never 


materialized.  Hardly  anyone  paid 
attention  to  which  college  had 
the  most  scholarships,  the  best 
grade  average,  or  the  fewest  stu- 
dents on  probation.  Any  competi- 
tion was  usually  athletic — or,  as 
in  the  case  of  the  Rondelet  fes- 
tivities, musical  in  the  Song  Fest 
and  a  combination  of  athletic  and 
alcoholic  in  the  Beer-Bike  Race." 
Faculty  associates  found  them- 
selves in  limbo,  since  their  func- 
tion and  their  relationship  to  the 
students  had  not  yet  been  defined 
clearly.  Although  the  designers  of 
the  college  system  intended  for 


1 86 


The  1 9 SOS 


the  interaction  between  students 
and  associates  to  stimulate  intel- 
lectual activity,  some  associates 
seemed  to  he  as  tongue-tied  in 
talking  to  students  as  the  stu- 
dents were  in  conversing  with 
professors.  At  any  rate,  associates 
usually  had  only  a  social  relation- 
ship with  their  colleges,  a  passive 
role  rather  than  the  active  one 
envisioned. 

Perhaps  intellectual  life  in  the 
colleges  suffered  because  some 
students  actively  resisted  it.  Oth- 
ers were  too  tired  from  every- 
thing else  they  had  to  do  to  sit 
down  at  a  table  and  discuss  mo- 
mentous issues,  ideas,  and  ideol- 
ogy. Considering  all  the  academic 
study  required,  many  undoubt- 
edly wanted  a  respite  from  brain 
work.  Some  did  not  wish  to  ex- 
pose their  ignorance  in  the  pres- 
ence of  the  associates,  even  in 
informal  conversations.  Besides 
(the  argument  ran),  did  stimulat- 
ing intellectual  discussions  help 
you  get  a  job? 

Like  students  the  world  over, 
those  at  Rice  liked  to  complain 
about  their  work  load.  Looked  at 
even  dispassionately,  the  aca- 
demic requirements  at  Rice  in 
the  i9>os  seemed  designed  to 
weed  out  the  unfit.  Fueled  by 
anxiety  among  nonathletes  about 
their  own  standing,  resentment 
grew  at  the  so-called  double  stan- 
dard for  athletes.  Rumor  had  it 
that  the  athletes  (mostly  physical 
education  majors,  not  those  tak- 
ing a  "regular"  schedule)  had  spe- 
cial help,  special  grading,  and 
special  courses,  and  that  they  did 
not  measure  up  scholastically  to 
other  Rice  students.  Any  dif- 
ferences in  behavior  or  dress  that 


distinguished  athletes  from  other 
students  increased  the  rancor  di- 
rected toward  these  supposedly 
privileged  sportsmen.  In  a  college 
where  many  were  trying  to  estab- 
lish traditions  of  "gracious  liv- 
ing," the  athletes  seemed  to  be 
throwbacks  to  the  old  rowdy  dor- 
mitory life  when  they  showed  up 
for  Sunday  dinner  (a  seated  meal 
at  which  men  were  expected  to 
wear  coats  and  ties)  flaunting 
wheat-colored  jeans  and  T-shirts 
with  their  coats  and  ties.  What 
really  angered  many  students, 
however,  was  that  the  athletes 
seemed  to  have  plenty  of  time 
to  loaf,  make  noise,  and  enjoy 
themselves — another  manifesta- 
tion of  the  unfair  system  at  Rice, 
they  said. 

By  1963  the  colleges  still  had 
not  measured  up  to  the  high 
hopes  of  some  students  and  fac- 
ulty. Although  there  were  subtle 
differences  among  the  men's  col- 
leges, none  of  them  had  a  distinct 
individual  personality,  a  fact  that 
some  on  the  Thresher  staff  de- 
plored in  a  newspaper  supple- 
ment on  the  college  system.  This 
was,  no  doubt,  a  result  of  the 
freshman  placement  system,  in 
which  a  mix  of  types  and  majors 
was  the  goal.  Comparison  with 
the  amenities  of  the  houses  at 
Harvard  or  the  colleges  at  Yale 
also  left  the  Rice  system  look- 
ing like  a  very  poor  cousin.  For 
funds,  the  Rice  colleges  depended 
on  a  small  fee  collected  from  all 
the  members;  but  that  amount 
covered  little  more  than  the  pur- 
chase of  a  television  set  or  a 
Ping-Pong  table.  It  was  certainly 
not  enough  to  finance  construc- 
tion of  larger  facilities,  such  as  li- 


braries, study  rooms,  and  private 
dining  rooms  such  as  the  Harvard 
and  Yale  houses  had.  In  a  state- 
ment on  trends  in  the  colleges  in 
1962,  dean  of  students  Sanford 
Higginbotham  pointed  out  that 
students  seemed  not  to  feel  a 
sense  of  responsibility  for  the 
colleges  or  real  loyalty  to  them. 
He  was  disappointed  that  the  col- 
leges were  primarily  places  of  en- 
tertainment and  had  neglected 
their  primary  obligations  to  sup- 
ply study  facilities  and  oppor- 
tunities for  social  and  cultural 
growth.  Higginbotham  had  ob- 
served many  violations  of  the  let- 
ter and  the  spirit  of  college  and 
university  regulations.  In  the  six 
years  since  their  establishment, 
the  colleges  had  not  yet  become 
the  focus  of  student  social,  ath- 
letic, and  intellectual  activities. 
In  1963  they  still  had  to  live  up 
to  their  potential. "' 

Despite  the  defects  that  many 
alumni  recall,  the  colleges  made 
a  number  of  positive  contribu- 
tions to  life  on  campus.  The  new 
or  renovated  dormitories  did 
much  to  improve  living  condi- 
tions on  campus.  College  activi- 
ties offered  a  chance  to  partici- 
pate to  many  students  who  would 
not  have  been  included  or  who 
would  not  have  offered  to  help 
under  the  old  system.  The  col- 
lege governments  attracted  a  type 
of  candidate  different  from  that 
for  the  old  class  offices  and  Stu- 
dent Council,  and  several  mas- 
ters professed  to  be  surprised 
and  delighted  that  the  students 
proved  they  could  run  their  own 
affairs  without  faculty  guidance. 
College  Nights  brought  in  speak- 
ers whom  students  might  not 


The  1950s 


187 


otherwise  have  had  the  chance  to 
hear,  and  a  program  of  seminars 
enabled  students  to  discuss  pro- 
fessional fields  with  Houston 
business  and  professional  people. 
Even  though  the  liaisons  among 
college  residents  and  associates 
were  still  tenuous,  great  strides 
had  been  made  in  faculty-student 
relationships  compared  to  the 
days  when  a  student  described 
the  Institute  as  "a  cold  place."" 

The  college  system  beneficially 
affected  student  life  in  another 
area  as  well:  the  treatment  of  the 
freshman  class.  Freshmen  at  Rice 
had  always  been  harassed  by 
sophomores,  but  during  the 
1 9 SOS  the  treatment  of  fresh- 
men reached  new  lows,  perhaps 
as  a  reflection  of  the  less-than- 
civilized  conditions  in  the  dor- 
mitories. Although  "guidance" 
was  supposed  to  be  different  from 
hazing,  and  voluntary  instead  of 
compulsory,  physical  punishment 
continued,  along  with  the  re- 
quirement that  freshmen  wear 
beanies  and  run  errands  for  up- 
perclassmen;  and  Forestry  100 
still  flourished.  Voluntarism  van- 
ished in  the  face  of  sophomore 
pressure  on  dormitory  residents. 
Hell  Week,  in  which  the  two 
classes  tried  to  capture  each 
other's  president  and  vice- 
president,  led  to  pitched  battles 
in  which  some  participants  broke 
bones.  In  1955  new  rules  were 
passed  that  decreed  a  milder  Hell 
Week,  with  women  being  specta- 
tors instead  of  participants  and 
men's  activities  restricted  to  the 
campus.  Only  the  sophomore 
president  was  subject  to  kidnap- 
ping, instead  of  all  the  class  of- 
ficers and  other  students  who 


had  also  been  abducted.  The 
Slime  Parade  turned  into  what 
some  termed  "an  orgy"  in  i9S4; 
and  although  the  sophomores 
protected  the  freshman  women 
from  smoochers  in  1955,  the  pa- 
rade could  hardly  be  called  tame. 
The  next  year,  1956,  was  the 
least  restrained.  In  the  Slime  Pa- 
rade, participants  smashed  in  the 
door  of  Loew's  State  Theater;  and 
after  the  Utah  game,  which  the 
Owls  won  27-0,  forty  or  fifty 
freshmen  mobbed  a  school  bus 
carrying  a  high  school  band  that 
had  played  at  the  game. 

The  incident  that  brought  Hell 
Week  to  a  halt  resulted  in  the 
deaths  of  two  sophomores.  Bill 
Carroll  and  Karl  Bailey,  when 
they  climbed  the  inside  of  the 
smokestack/campanile  to  put  a 
tire  on  top  and  were  overcome  by 
carbon  monoxide  fumes.  On  Feb- 
ruary 5,  1957,  Dean  McBride 
informed  the  president  of  the 
Student  Association  that  the 
administration  was  abolishing 
Hell  Week,  which  had  become 
"a  quasi-legal  brawl  neither  pro- 
moting the  aims  of  the  Institute 
nor  satisfying  the  significant  de- 
sires of  the  students."  The  tradi- 
tion had  become  too  dangerous 
to  people,  too  disruptive  of  uni- 
versity life  and  education,  and 
too  divisive  of  the  student  body. 
The  next  fall,  changes  were  also 
made  in  the  Slime  Parade.  The 
line  of  march  led  to  the  Sham- 
rock Hilton  Hotel  instead  of 
downtown;  participation  was 
truly  voluntary,  and  there  was  no 
physical  hazing  on  the  way."' 

The  inauguration  of  the  college 
system  changed  "guidance"  dra- 
matically. The  Sub-Committee 


on  Freshmen  of  the  Committee 
on  Student  Housing  had  been  un- 
able to  reconcile  the  various  atti- 
tudes toward  guidance  and  had 
not  produced  any  recommenda- 
tions, but  the  individual  colleges 
soon  worked  out  new  practices. 
The  most  brutal  forms  of  hazing 
disappeared  in  a  few  years — in 
some  cases,  immediately  in  the 
fall  of  1957  when  the  freshmen 
entered  the  newly  opened  col- 
leges. However,  certain  remnants 
persisted  for  a  while.  Freshmen 
still  wore  beanies,  but  now  in  the 
colors  of  their  colleges  instead  of 
the  traditional  blue  and  gray.  The 
Slime  Parade  continued  as  a  pale 
reflection  of  its  former  self  until 
1964,  when  the  colleges  them- 
selves abolished  it.  The  greased 
pole  event  went  on;  freshmen 
tried  to  rescue  a  beanie  from  a 
pole  in  a  sea  of  drilling  mud,  and 
if  they  were  successful,  the  guid- 
ance period  ended  early.  Bowing 
to  Sammy  at  football  games 
lasted  until  1961,  when  the  tradi- 
tion broke  down.  In  1962  Hans- 
zen,  Wiess,  and  Baker  Colleges 
reinstated  the  practice,  but  Will 
Rice  did  not.  (Students  still  bow 
to  Sammy  in  the  1980s.) 

"Guidance"  become  "orienta- 
tion," something  quite  different, 
during  these  years,  as  colleges 
welcomed  their  freshmen  and 
tried  to  help  them  become  ac- 
climated to  Rice,  Its  people, 
the  new  college  traditions,  and 
Houston."^ 


i88 


The  1 9 SOS 


Academic  Difficulties 

While  the  collej;c  system  im- 
proved nonacademie  life  on 
campus  considerably,  it  did  not 
initially  help  much  with  aca- 
demic matters.  Those  difficulties 
continued  during  the  19SOS,  as 
both  faculty  and  students  ac- 
knowledged— although  they 
went  about  solving  the  problems 
in  different  ways  and  from  very 
different  perspectives. 

Early  in  the  decade  the  faculty 
began  to  study  the  effectiveness 
of  the  undergraduate  depart- 
ments. A  Committee  of  Educa- 
tional Inquiry  was  established 
during  the  1952-53  school  year 
to  investigate  undergraduate  edu- 
cation. It  took  as  its  starting 
point  a  statement  from  the  Car- 
negie Foundation  for  the  Ad- 
vancement of  Teaching,  which 
implied  that  colleges  "drifted" 
into  educational  policies  by  yield- 
ing to  pressures  of  the  moment 
and  thereafter  followed  the  prece- 
dents set  in  haste.  The  drift  had 
its  origins  in  the  fact  that  admin- 
istrators could  not  devote  suffi- 
cient time  and  attention  to  plan- 
ning and  policy  matters,  and  the 
faculty  did  not.  The  committee 
thought  that  this  criticism  did 
not  apply  to  Rice  but  decided  to 
test  Its  validity  and  see  where  the 
Institute  stood. 

Fortunately,  the  committee 
reported,  the  faculty  generally 
agreed  on  the  aims  and  purposes 
of  the  undergraduate  program: 
providing  the  best  possible  oppor- 
tunities for  the  development  of 
"above-average  minds,"  at  the 
same  time  giving  adequate  atten- 


tion to  preprofessionai  training  in 
certain  areas.  Indeed,  these  had 
been  the  goals  since  the  founding 
of  the  university.  There  was, 
however,  some  difference  of  opin- 
ion about  how  successful  the  In- 
stitute had  been  in  achieving 
those  aims. 

In  theory,  the  common  core 
curriculum  introduced  in  1947- 
48  provided  all  students  with  the 
opportunity  to  explore  various 
fields  and  broaden  their  educa- 
tional backgrounds  before  select- 
ing their  majors.  The  freshman 
and  sophomore  years  offered 
basic  studies  in  both  humanities 
and  sciences  before  the  student 
decided  on  a  specialty,  and  even 
in  the  last  two  years  further  re- 
quired courses  allowed  only  lim- 
ited concentration  in  an  aca- 
demic field.  In  practice,  the 
course  requirements  were  not  as 
rigid  as  they  might  have  seemed. 
Changes  had  occurred  before 
even  one  class  had  gone  through 
the  complete  four-year  program, 
as  certain  requirements  were 
dropped  for  certain  majors.  For 
example,  freshmen  who  ex- 
pressed a  desire  to  major  in  biol- 
ogy could  bypass  engineering 
drawing  (even  though  biology 
was  in  the  science-engineering 
division,  which  required  the 
drafting  course),  and  certain  engi- 
neering students  no  longer  took  a 
second  year  of  chemistry.  The 
Committee  of  Educational  In- 
quiry did  not  judge  whether  these 
changes  were  good  or  bad;  that 
was  a  determination  for  the  fac- 
ulty to  make.  The  committee 
was  concerned  instead  with  the 
motivation  for  these  changes: 


were  they  made  to  relieve  lo- 
calized pressures  or  to  alter  the 
basic  philosophy  behind  the 
program? 

The  intent  of  the  program — to 
provide  a  well-rounded  educa- 
tion— was  undermined  by  com- 
peting interests.  Applicants  were 
asked  to  specify  a  major,  contrary 
to  the  plan's  intent  that  a  student 
should  not  choose  a  field  of  spe- 
cialization until  the  end  of  the 
sophomore  year.  Students  were, 
after  all,  admitted  to  each  divi- 
sion on  a  quota  system,  which 
was  defended  because  of  the  In- 
stitute's limited  enrollment.  The 
committee  was  asked  whether 
this  system  was  fair  to  the  stu- 
dent and  whether  it  ensured  that 
Rice  enrolled  the  most  apt  400 
applicants. 

Major  requirements  and 
"strongly  advised"  electives  com- 
peted with  courses  outside  the 
students'  specialties  for  slots  in 
their  schedules.  Often  their  ma- 
jor departments  "suggested"  that 
particular  electives  be  taken  in 
the  sophomore  or  junior  years, 
leaving  students  no  opportunity 
to  satisfy  their  intellectual  curi- 
osity or  to  range  very  far  afield 
from  their  majors.  The  choice  of 
electives  was  narrowed  consider- 
ably by  course  schedules;  after 
registering  for  their  required 
courses,  students  found  their  se- 
lection of  electives  limited  to 
those  that  met  during  their  re- 
maining free  periods. 

True  to  the  implications  of  the 
Carnegie  Foundation's  report,  the 
Institute  had  "drifted"  away  from 
its  educational  policies,  the  com- 
mittee decided.  The  drift  was  due 


The  1950s 


to  several  reasons.  First,  the  com- 
mittee suggested,  Rice's  faculty 
did  not  really  understand  either 
the  policies  or  the  means  of  ef- 
fecting them.  Contributmg  to 
their  confusion  were  the  faculty's 
failure  to  discuss  policies  ade- 
quately before  taking  action,  a 
general  lack  of  information  about 
committee  and  administrative 
decisions,  and  the  fact  that  new 
faculty  members  were  unfamiliar 
with  the  background  of  present 
policies  and  procedures.  The 
committee  ended  its  report  by 
suggesting  that  the  faculty  reex- 
amine the  core  curriculum,  its 
implications,  its  applicability  at 
Rice,  and  methods  for  retaining 
its  desirable  features." 

It  appears,  however,  that  the 
faculty  never  undertook  a  close 
study  of  the  system  and  curricu- 
lum. In  1957  the  Executive  Com- 
mittee appealed  to  the  faculty  to 
reaffirm  the  basic  principle  that 
students  would  not  declare  ma- 
jors until  the  end  of  the  second 
year,  and  the  faculty  so  voted. 

The  Committee  on  the  Fresh- 
man Course,  still  in  existence  in 
1953,  continued  to  wrestle  with 
ever-present  freshman  diffi- 
culties. At  least  twenty  percent 
of  the  first-year  students  were  in 
scholastic  trouble.  They  appeared 
to  be  bright  and  spent  a  reason- 
able amount  of  time  on  their 
studies.  Counseling  freshmen 
was  doing  no  appreciable  good, 
and  the  committee  could  reach 
no  conclusion  about  the  qual- 
ity of  instruction  in  freshman 
courses.  Faculty  members  on  the 
committee  felt  that  something 
must  be  wrong  with  Rice's  selec- 


tion process.  Certain  facts  were 
clear:  academic  students  contrib- 
uted disproportionately  to  the 
number  of  unsuccessful  students; 
out-of-town  students  did  also; 
and  Math  100  was  still  the  most 
difficult  freshman  course.  How- 
ever, no  one  had  thought  of  a  de- 
pendable method  of  raising  fresh- 
man grades.  The  Committee  of 
Educational  Inquiry  suggested 
that  divisional,  geographic,  and 
gender  quotas  be  abandoned;  but 
their  recommendation  was  not 
followed,  and  the  Admissions 
Committee  under  S.  G.  McCann 
continued  to  apply  quotas  to  the 
incoming  freshman  class. 

One  of  the  most  worrisome 
problems  was  summer  attrition 
of  the  most  desirable  prospective 
students.  During  19.S4  approx- 
imately 130  of  these  withdrew, 
causing  the  Admissions  Commit- 
tee to  turn  to  its  waiting  list — 
only  to  find  that  most  of  the 
prospects  on  the  list  had  refused 
to  wait  for  Rice's  decision.  Mc- 
Cann thought  that  replacements 
from  further  down  the  list  were 
not  as  strong  as  those  lost  from 
the  top.  He  wanted  (and  in  1955 
received  permission)  to  accept 
more  candidates  in  the  first  round, 
expecting  that  a  sufficient  num- 
ber would  decline  admission  to 
keep  the  freshman  class  at  the 
desired  size.  The  top-rated  appli- 
cants could  thus  be  offered  places 
before  they  made  other  plans.  In 
a  way,  the  problem  of  admitting 
only  the  best-qualified  students 
solved  itself  during  the  1950s,  as 
the  number  of  applicants  rose.  In 
1950  the  total  number  of  appli- 
cations considered  was  713.  In 


1958  it  was  2,100,  and  in  1962  it 
was  2,700.  Rice  finally  had  an 
abundance  of  applicants  from 
which  to  choose,  but  the  problem 
of  keeping  students  in  school 
remained." 

In  1955,  still  looking  for  a  way 
to  find  perfect  freshmen  who 
could  do  the  work  required,  the 
Admissions  Committee  made  an- 
other change  in  its  procedures: 
Rice's  own  entrance  examination 
was  replaced  with  the  tests  of  the 
College  Entrance  Examination 
Board.  The  old  exams  had  been 
used  mainly  to  ascertain  whether 
applicants  were  sufficiently  pre- 
pared; the  new  ones  were  to  be 
used  not  only  for  that  purpose, 
but  also  to  identify  candidates  of 
outstanding  ability.  The  CEEB 
tests  were  not  an  absolute  re- 
quirement for  those  who  sought 
admission,  but  those  who  took 
them  were  given  "marked  prefer- 
ence" if  they  scored  satisfactorily 
and  fulfilled  the  other  regular  re- 
quirements. The  Admissions 
Committee  continued  to  empha- 
size that  the  primary  considera- 
tions were  the  candidates'  high 
school  records,  rank  in  their  high 
school  classes,  and  personal  qual- 
ities. Still,  the  CEEB  exams  did 
provide  a  series  of  scores  by 
which  to  evaluate  prospects,  and 
the  Admissions  Committee,  de- 
liberating long  hours  over  its 
choices,  appreciated  help  in  mak- 
ing difficult  decisions.'' 

Also  in  1955  the  faculty  made 
an  effort  to  help  freshmen  sur- 
vive Math  100,  by  offering  them 
a  math  review  before  school 
opened.  (By  1956  other  depart- 
ments were  asking  to  present  ses- 


190 


The  1 9 SOS 


sions  to  acquaint  students  witli 
fundamentals  before  scheduled 
orientation  at  the  end  of  the 
week.)  The  mathematics  depart- 
ment also  changed  the  syllabus 
of  Math  loo;  in  1956  the  depart- 
ment dropped  trigonometry, 
leaving  the  course  to  consist  of 
analytic  geometry  and  elemen- 
tary calculus. 

In  1958  freshman  orientation 
was  revised.  The  week  before 
classes  started,  all  freshmen  were 
required  to  live  on  campus  for 
four  days.  From  eight  o'clock  un- 
til noon  they  took  a  class  in  trig- 
onometry, and  in  the  afternoon 
they  studied  math,  read  a  book 
assigned  by  the  English  depart- 
ment, and  took  care  of  registra- 
tion details.  At  the  end  of  the 
week  they  were  tested  in  math 
and  wrote  an  essay.  Whatever  free 
time  was  left  was  filled  with  vari- 
ous quasi-social  activities.  The 
week  could  be  a  grueling  one 
and,  as  it  turned  out,  did  not  ap- 
preciably help  the  freshmen  to 
succeed  in  either  math  or  En- 
glish. However,  the  practice  con- 
tinued until  1 96 1. 

One  requirement  was  dropped 
in  195s,  to  the  relief  of  poor 
spellers:  the  faculty  abolished  the 
spelling  test  that  had  been  re- 
quired to  enter  the  junior  year. 
Thereafter,  passing  any  English 
course  was  assumed  to  represent 
proficiency  in  spelling.'' 

Investigations  by  two  commit- 
tees into  the  motives  and  meth- 
ods of  the  university  do  not, 
however,  seem  to  have  answered 
some  of  the  fundamental  ques- 
tions raised  by  the  Committee  of 
Educational  Inquiry.  Was  Rice 


really  providing  the  best  possible 
opportunities  for  the  develop- 
ment of  above-average  minds? 
Was  the  curriculum  really  achiev- 
ing its  stated  goals? 

In  1959  the  dean  of  humanities 
could  still  ask  what  the  purpose 
of  the  humanities  division  was. 
Was  the  undergraduate  student  to 
be  "trained"  for  a  professional  ca- 
reer or  given  a  "broader  outlook" 
with  more  emphasis  on  the  inter- 
relation of  courses?  How  were 
the  courses  to  be  interrelated  and 
electives  chosen — by  the  stu- 
dents, their  major  departments, 
or  the  Committee  on  E.xamina- 
tions  and  Standing?  These  ques- 
tions could  be  applied  to  the 
science-engineering  division  as 
well.  For  more  cross-fertilization 
of  sciences  and  humanities,  the 
dean  thought  that  new  human- 
ities electives  should  be  created 
to  attract  science  and  engineering 
students,  and  courses  in  scien- 
tific departments  for  non-science 
students  ought  to  be  established. 
Teaching  techniques  could  be 
greatly  improved  in  some  in- 
stances, and  the  teaching  of 
freshman  courses  by  graduate 
students  ought  to  be  eliminated." 

A  New  Attitude 
Among  Students 

The  faculty's  discussions  did  not 
result  in  any  real  changes  for  the 
students,  and  the  evident  lack  of 
change  had  an  important  effect 
on  the  outlook  and  general  atti- 
tude of  many.  Alumni  from  ear- 
lier or  later  eras  might  scarcely 
recognize  their  alma  mater  as  de- 


scribed by  their  counterparts 
from  the  watershed  years  of  the 
1950s. 

Up  to  the  mid-fifties,  the  pre- 
dominant attitude  of  students  to- 
ward Rice  seems  to  have  been 
great  fondness.  There  were  some 
people,  often  transfers  from  other 
colleges,  who  thought  the  Insti- 
tute folk  to  be  somewhat  provin- 
cial and  overawed  with  their  own 
importance;"  but  the  majority 
look  back  on  their  days  at  Rice  as 
a  time  of  opportunity,  cama- 
raderie, serious  learning,  and 
downright  fun.  They  share  a 
sense  of  closeness,  loyalty,  and 
fierce  pride.  Students  were  abso- 
lutely certain  that  they  were  re- 
ceiving the  best  education  avail- 
able anywhere.  Many  can  still 
remember  every  college  yell, 
almost  every  member  of  their 
class,  and  every  professor — with 
all  their  idiosyncrasies.  Many 
alumni  of  the  1920s  and  1930s 
unabashedly  state,  "I  loved  the 
place." 

The  new  attitude  was  manifest 
in  a  bitter  cynicism  toward  the 
university,  the  administration, 
the  faculty,  and  even  other  stu- 
dents. The  number  of  students 
who  shared  this  altered  view- 
point is  difficult  to  determine, 
but  it  is  clear  from  interviews 
and  printed  sources  that  it  made 
its  first  appearance  around  1952, 
when  all  four  classes  were  en- 
rolled in  the  new  postwar  curric- 
ulum; by  1956  it  was  widespread. 

Several  external  factors  as  well 
as  internal  ones  contributed  to 
this  cynicism.  Pressure  to  suc- 
ceed did  a  great  deal  to  foster  its 
development,  and  it  started  be- 


The  1 9 SOS 


191 


fore  a  student  was  even  accepted. 
Parents  were  ambitious  for  then- 
children.  A  college  diploma,  es- 
pecially from  a  university  with 
the  reputation  of  the  Rice  Insti- 
tute, was  considered  a  passport  to 
success  in  the  business  world, 
and  competition  for  the  limited 
number  of  places  in  the  best  col- 
leges became  fierce.  Admission 
depended  on  high  school  grades 
and  College  Board  scores,  and 
whole  futures  seemed  to  be  de- 
cided by  numbers  alone. 

Getting  into  college,  however, 
was  only  the  beginning.  Once  at 
Rice,  students  were  faced  with  a 
new  curriculum,  which  left  little 
time  for  the  broader  aspects  of  a 
college  education.  It  offered  few 
electives  and  gave  some  students 
the  feeling  of  being  caught  m  a 
trap,  subject  to  demands  and  pro- 
cedures they  thought  they  could 
do  little  or  nothing  to  modify. 

Many  students  saw  a  contra- 
diction. On  the  one  hand.  Rice 
students  were  told,  and  they  be- 
lieved, that  they  were  intellec- 
tually superior.  They  had  achieved 
outstanding  high  school  records, 
and  they  had  succeeded  over 
many  applicants  to  be  admitted. 
On  the  other  hand,  as  they  sat 
with  their  freshman  class  at  ma- 
triculation, being  congratulated 
on  their  superiority,  they  were 
told,  "Look  at  the  person  on  your 
left  and  on  your  right;  one  of  you 
will  not  be  here  for  graduation." 
When  they  started  classes,  their 
grades  dropped  for  the  first  time 
in  their  lives,  even  though  they 
felt  that  they  were  studying  very 
hard.  High  school  friends  at  other 
universities  reported  high  grades 


easily  made,  while  Rice  students 
worked  considerably  harder  for 
no  perceptible  reward  in  grades. 
Then  they  were  faced  with  ex- 
plaining their  low  marks  to  their 
parents.  The  pressure  to  succeed 
was  by  no  means  unique  to  Rice, 
but  added  to  the  other  factors,  it 
increased  the  tension.  To  fail  at 
Rice  was  devastating  to  some' 

Some  students  concluded  that 
it  was  not  their  own  fault  that 
their  grades  were  low;  many 
placed  the  blame  on  the  pro- 
fessors and  their  grading  systems. 
As  students  examined  the  pro- 
fessors, with  whom  most  had  lit- 
tle or  no  contact  outside  the 
classroom,  they  isolated  a  num- 
ber of  factors  that  might  explain 
their  scholastic  plight.  Some  pro- 
fessors seemed  to  hold  students 
in  low  esteem,  considering  them 
to  be  necessary  evils  who  en- 
croached on  valuable  research 
time.  These  men  were  seen  as 
careless  and  impatient  teachers. 
Others,  the  students  thought, 
were  not  as  smart  as  their  stu- 
dents, but  their  insecurity  seemed 
to  drive  them  to  prove  that  they 
were,  in  fact,  superior;  it  seemed 
that  their  method  was  to  grade 
twice  as  hard  as  might  have  been 
appropriate.  Some  professors 
forced  grades  into  a  perfect  bell 
curve,  using  them  to  rank  the  rel- 
ative standing  of  students  in  a 
class,  and  not  to  reflect  the  worth 
of  a  student's  work  indepen- 
dently. Others  gave  extremely  dif- 
ficult tests  over  minutiae.  Some 
seemed  to  think  they  would  not 
be  highly  regarded  unless  they 
graded  low,  and  others  announced 
that  they  did  not  "believe"  in  giv- 


ing Is.  There  were  a  few  faculty 
members  who  seemed  genuinely 
interested  in  the  students  and 
their  education,  but  very  few,  the 
students  thought.'" 

Because  Rice  charged  no  tui- 
tion, students  saw  themselves 
as  being  there  on  the  adminis- 
tration's sufferance  and  conse- 
quently as  being  powerless.  Any 
student  request  for  changing  the 
system  seemed  to  meet  with 
stony  resistance,  yet  the  ad- 
ministration could  promulgate 
whatever  arbitrary  regulations  it 
wanted.  "  (It  should  be  remem- 
bered that  in  the  19SOS,  students 
everywhere  were  held  to  have 
few  inherent  "rights.")  The  apolo- 
gia, "We  hope  this  doesn't  incon- 
venience you,"  accompanied 
announcements  of  administrative 
changes  in  regulations  and  be- 
came an  ironic  quotation,  fre- 
quently applied.  Some  students 
put  it  into  a  simpler  phrase: 
"They  think  they  own  us."'" 

The  pressure  and  powerless- 
ness  were  not  all  in  the  students' 
imagination.  Dean  Richter  has 
said  that  the  administration  was 
determined  to  make  the  most  of 
Rice's  student  potential  and  de- 
velop it  to  the  highest  possible 
level  of  achievement.  The  univer- 
sity in  effect  gave  a  scholarship 
to  each  student  by  charging  no 
tuition,  and  it  intended  to  get  its 
money's  worth.  Students  would 
be  challenged  to  the  utmost."" 

In  both  student  and  faculty 
conversations  a  question  arose 
concerning  this  challenge.  Was 
Rice  both  a  hard  school  and  a 
good  school,  or  only  a  hard  one? 
In  the  view  of  at  least  one  pro- 


192 


The  1 9 SOS 


fessor,  there  was  a  narrowly  con- 
ceived education  offered  at  Rice 
at  that  time  that  resulted  in  a 
heaviness  and  rigidity  to  the  sys- 
tem. The  joy  of  learning  was  ab- 
sent. At  the  same  time,  however, 
that  same  professor  and  others 
complained  that  the  students 
were  intellectually  docile  and 
less  enthusiastic  about  learning 
for  its  own  sake."' 

This  debate  went  unresolved, 
but  the  problem  of  low  grades  re- 
mained. According  to  Dr.  Ken- 
neth Pitzer,  the  University  of 
California,  Berkeley,  kept  records 
of  the  grade-point  averages  of  its 
transfer  students.  Transfer  stu- 
dents from  only  a  few  colleges 
raised  their  averages  at  Berkeley; 
Rice  students  were  among  them. " 

Some  Rice  faculty  members 
recognized  the  harm  that  a  diffi- 
cult grading  system  could  cause 
and  tried  to  draw  their  colleagues' 
attention  to  the  unfairness  of  a 
forced  curve  or  extra-strict  mark- 
ing; but  their  arguments  seemed 
to  make  little  impression.  One 
explanation  advanced  for  the 
hard  grading  habits  of  some  pro- 
fessors was  that  they  had  be- 
come accustomed  to  the  single- 
minded,  mature  veterans  who 
returned  for  their  degrees  after  the 
war.  The  professors  expected  the 
same  industry  from  the  younger 
students,  giving  them  lower 
grades  when  they  were  not  as 
productive  as  the  veterans  had 
been.  Such  an  explanation,  how- 
ever, does  not  take  into  account 
the  new  curriculum  and  new 
demands  on  both  student  and 
professor."' 

Students  reacted  to  the  aca- 
demic challenge  in  various  ways. 


Some  accepted  it,  although  they 
did  not  enjoy  it,  and  made  the 
"battle"  into  a  game.  These  stu- 
dents often  turned  the  system 
back  on  itself  in  a  variety  of 
ways,  from  splitting  the  chores 
for  test-cramming,  to  choosing 
courses  known  to  be  easy  (aca- 
demic students  had  much  more 
leeway  here  than  engineers),  to 
manipulating  seating  charts  to 
appear  present  when  they  were 
actually  absent.  Others  accepted 
the  challenge  by  working  all  the 
time,  becoming  in  the  process 
what  students  called  "grinds"  or 
"weenies."  These  students  often 
felt  the  pressure  keenly  and  knew 
that  worrying  was  a  detriment  to 
their  performance,  but  they  also 
knew  that  it  was  almost  impossi- 
ble to  stop  worrying.  Worrying 
was  built  into  the  system.  Some 
flunked  out,  but  even  that  was 
done  in  individual  ways.  There 
were  those  who  worked  to  the 
bitter  end  and  failed  anyway,  and 
there  were  those  who  simply 
threw  caution  to  the  winds  and 
enjoyed  themselves  before  they 
had  to  leave."" 

There  were  also  some  who  re- 
fused to  play  the  game  and  left 
for  other  colleges  where  the  pres- 
sure was  less  and  good  hard  work 
was  rewarded  more  generously. 
An  alumnus  has  remarked  that 
he  thought  Rice  was  more  a  test 
of  mental  stability  than  of  men- 
tal agility."'  Reaction  to  the  chal- 
lenge created  in  a  substantial 
number  an  "I  hate  Rice"  feeling 
for  the  first  time  in  the  univer- 
sity's history.""  Some  students 
wanted  to  escape  by  graduating, 
showing  the  professors  that  the 
system  could  be  beaten;  they  re- 


solved never  to  c:ome  back  and 
never,  under  any  circumstances, 
to  give  money  to  the  Institute. 
For  some,  the  grind,  the  busy- 
work,  the  feeling  that  they  were 
wasting  their  time  in  rote  learn- 
ing, were  alleviated  by  a  few  very 
good  teachers  who  truly  chal- 
lenged them  to  learn,  to  think,  to 
reconsider  old  and  new  ideas,  and 
to  write  clearly;  a  high  grade 
earned  from  one  of  these  pro- 
fessors was  something  to  be 
prized. 

One  further  aspect  of  the 
tension-filled  situation  should  be 
mentioned.  While  "the  system" 
created  a  great  deal  of  pressure, 
the  highly  competitive  Rice  stu- 
dents created  more  of  their  own. 
One  of  the  unanswerable  ques- 
tions, endlessly  debated  by  stu- 
dents in  the  late  1950s  and  early 
1960s,  was  whether  Rice  made 
students  in  its  own  image,  or 
whether  the  students  made  Rice: 
that  IS,  did  Rice  attract  a  distinc- 
tive type  of  person?  Admissions 
certainly  resulted  in  a  homoge- 
neous group,  but  it  was  also  pos- 
sible that  Rice  attracted  appli- 
cants similar  to  the  students  who 
were  already  there. 

In  retrospect,  many  alumni  of 
the  fifties  and  early  sixties  have 
changed  some  of  their  negative 
opinions  about  Rice.  Some  found 
themselves  quite  well  prepared 
for  graduate  schools;  at  the  very 
least  they  knew  how  to  study. 
Thinking  back,  some  have  real- 
ized that  their  perception  of 
Rice's  difficulty  was  artificial. 
The  amount  of  study  required  of 
them  had  really  not  been  as  great 
as  It  had  seemed  at  the  time  (ex- 
cept for  the  engineers).  Some  still 


The  1950s 


193 


cursed  certain  courses  and  pro- 
fessors for  being  a  waste  of  time, 
but  the  good  instructors  helped 
temper  their  anger." 

One  long-range  effect  of  the 
change  in  attitude  was  the  devel- 
opment of  a  special  Rice  sense  of 
humor — self-deprecating,  flip- 
pant, a  bit  morbid,  somewhat 
misunderstood  by  the  outside 
world — still  in  evidence  today.  It 
can  be  seen  in  some,  but  not  all, 
of  the  half-time  performances  of 
the  iconoclastic  Marching  Owl 
Band." 

As  some  changes  in  the  curric- 
ulum (notably  the  creation  of  an- 
other Math  100  course  called  loi 
for  academic  students,  and  an 
expanded  selection  of  courses) 
"softened"  the  regulations;  as 
new,  younger  professors  joined 
the  faculty;  and  as  the  college 
system  civilized  living  condi- 
tions, the  bitterest  cynicism 
faded.  Improved  dormitory  and 
academic  conditions  allowed  stu- 
dents to  look  at  the  university 
with  a  clearer  perspective.  In  the 
1960s,  they  would  not  neces- 
sarily like  every  facet  of  the  Rice 
experience,  but  the  fundamental 
living  and  learning  conditions 
seemed  more  humane. 


A  Lighter  View  of 
Campus  Life 

Of  course,  students  did  more 
than  just  study  and  complain 
during  the  fifties.  There  was 
hardly  an  atmosphere  of  per- 
petual gloom  and  doom,  but 
rather  quite  the  opposite.  Stu- 
dents did  their  best  to  escape  the 


140.  Demonstration  of  radio  and  teletype  at  the  Rice  Exposition.  i9S4- 


pressure-cooker  of  classroom, 
laboratory,  and  carrel. 

All  sorts  of  activities  still  flour- 
ished on  campus:  the  Dramatic 
Club,  politics,  literary  societies,  a 
reincarnated  literary  magazine, 
charity  drives,  and  much  else. 
The  college  system  added  more 
social  events  to  the  crowded 
schedule.  Many  notable  speakers 
visited  the  campus,  including 
General  Dwight  D.  Eisenhower, 
at  that  time  president  of  Colum- 
bia University;  and  the  alumni 
continued  to  honor  benefactors  at 
homecoming.  In  1957  the  col- 
leges first  competed  in  the  Beer- 
Bike  Race  as  a  part  of  the  Ronde- 
let  festivities;  in  the  early  years 
of  the  race,  the  riders  also  did  the 
drinking. 


For  a  while  the  campus  was  ab- 
sorbed in  the  mystery  of  what 
would  happen  next  to  Gertrude 
Stein.  Mrs.  Kenneth  Dale  Owen 
had  given  a  bust  of  the  author 
to  the  library  as  a  memorial  to 
trustee  Robert  Lee  Blaffer,  her  fa- 
ther. The  statue  had  not  been  in 
the  library  more  than  a  few  days 
when  it  disappeared,  only  to  be 
found  in  a  police  station.  On 
other  occasions  it  was  painted 
and  otherwise  adorned  (at  one 
point,  catfish  eyes  were  put  in 
the  eye  sockets)  before  it  was  fi- 
nally placed  in  the  Music  Room 
of  the  library. 

The  band,  under  the  direction 
of  Holmes  McNeely  rose  from 
what  Dr.  Houston  called  "an 
almost  all-time  low  to  what  I 


194 


The  1 9 SOS 


141 


Jri»*%;^Jti« 


141 -143.  Three  Southwest  Conference  winners  ot  the  igsos.  141.  Football 
team.  i9S}-\4.  142-  Football  team.  /957-5S. 


think  is  a  respectable  organiza- 
tion for  an  institution  of  our  size. 
It  seems  to  me  miportant,"  the 
president  continued,  "that  we  do 
not  undertake  to  do  the  kind  of 
thmg  that  can  be  done  by  a  very 
large  organization  and  that  we  do 
not  expect  a  large  organization 
from  a  small  student  body.  I  do 
believe,  however,  that  we  can 
emphasize  quality  in  the  Band  as 


we  do  in  other  fields  and  that  we 
have  good  reason  to  be  satisfied." 
Another  kind  of  music  was  not 
so  soothing  to  Rice's  ear.  Some 
Houston  high  school  girls  and 
some  women  students  from  the 
University  of  Houston  came  on 
campus  several  times,  usually 
singing  their  school  songs,  and 
once,  even  more  foolishly,  Aggie 
songs.  Rice  men  emptied  the 


dorms  and  surrounded  the  of- 
fending visitors,  usually  dousing 
the  women  with  water  and  let- 
ting the  air  out  of  their  tires.  Sev- 
eral times  the  police  came  to 
rescue  the  women  and  had  their 
tires  flattened,  too.  Once  Marvin 
Zindler,  an  intrepid  reporter  for 
the  Houston  Press,  came  to  take 
pictures  of  the  event,  only  to  find 
himself  cameraless,  kidnapped 
for  a  while,  and  all  wet  besides. 
Of  one  of  these  encounters,  a  po- 
liceman said  that  the  students 
were  supposed  to  be  educated  but 
had  acted  like  wild  men,  and  he 
was  happy  that  his  son  was  a  stu- 
dent at  AikM.'-' 

Sports,  especially  football,  at- 
tracted the  students'  interest  into 
the  1960s  as  less  Neely  and  his 
teams  continued  to  do  well.  Rice 
won  the  conference  in  1953  and 
1957,  going  to  the  Cotton  Bowl, 
and  went  to  other  bowl  games 
after  the  i960  and  1961  seasons. 
The  Owls  beat  Alabama  in  the 
1954  Cotton  Bowl,  28-6,  but  lost 
to  Navy  in  1958,  20-7,  to  Mis- 
sissippi in  the  1961  Sugar  Bowl, 
14-6,  and  to  Kansas,  33-7,  in 
the  Bluebonnet  Bowl.  Victories 
over  Texas  and  AikM  during  the 
fifties  were  satisfying  to  support- 
ers, but  especially  pleasing  was 
Rice's  1957  defeat  of  the  Aggies, 
who  were  ranked  first  in  the  na- 
tion. Elated  students  revived  the 
old  custom  of  locking  the  cam- 
pus for  an  undeclared  school  hol- 
iday after  a  big  win. 

Life  was  not  without  its  exas- 
perations for  Coach  Neely,  how- 
ever. Just  when  he  thought  the 
Owls  had  beat  Army  in  the  i9s8 
game.  Army  blocked  a  Rice  field- 
goal  attempt  and  then  completed 


The  1950s 


19s 


a  long  pass  for  a  touchdown.  The 
final  score  was  Army  14,  Rice  7. 
Neely  said  the  worst  thing  that 
ever  happened  to  him  occurred 
during  an  Aggie  game  of  this  pe- 
riod. The  Owls  had  scored  12 
points,  and  time  was  gettmg 
short  when  the  Aggies  scored 
their  first  touchdown.  Neely  told 
his  players,  "There're  68,000  peo- 
ple here  and  every  one  of  them 
knows  that  they're  going  to  try 
an  on-side  kick.  So  stay  right 
here  on  the  40-yard  line,  don't  go 
back,  just  cover  the  kick."  De- 
spite the  coach's  order,  somebody 
backed  up,  leaving  a  hole,  and  all 
the  Aggies  had  to  do  was  fall  on 
the  ball.  A  long  pass  resulted  in 
another  touchdown,  and  Rice 
went  down  to  defeat. ^''  The  1954 
Cotton  Bowl  produced  one  of  the 
most  famous  incidents  in  college 
football,  when  an  Alabama  player 
jumped  off  the  bench  to  stop 
Dicky  Maegle's  unobstructed 
run  for  the  goal  line.  But,  as  the 
coach  said.  Rice  got  a  touch- 
down out  of  it,  and  it  did  not  hurt 
Maegle. 

Maegle  was  only  one  of  the 
outstanding  players  that  the  Rice 
sports  program  produced  during 
this  period.  In  football  the  Owls 
boasted  of  such  men  as  King  Hill, 
Buddy  Dial,  brothers  Rufus  and 
Boyd  King,  mathematics  student 
Frank  Ryan,  Kosse  Johnson,  John 
Hudson,  Bill  Howton,  Richard 
Chapman,  John  Burrell,  Rhodes 
scholar  Robert  Johnston,  current 
Rice  coach  Ray  Alborn,  and  Mal- 
colm Walker.  In  basketball.  Rice 
won  the  conference  in  19 S4  with 
All-Conference  players  Gene 
Schwinger  and  Don  Lance.  The 
basketball  team  was  coached  by 


143.  Basketball  team.  19S3-S4  (co-champions). 


Don  Suman  from  1950  to  1959 
and  John  Frankie  from  i960  to 
1963.  Olympic  gold  medalist  Fred 
Hansen  and  Warren  Brattlof, 
Dale  Moseley  Ed  Red,  Dale 
Spence,  and  Tobin  Rote  distin- 
guished themselves  in  track, 
while  the  tennis  team  won  con- 
ference titles  with  Ronnie  Fisher, 
Art  Foust,  Jim  Parker,  and  Fritz 
Schunck.  ' 


The  1950s  in  Summary 

During  the  1950s  the  Rice  Insti- 
tute changed  on  several  levels.  It 
expanded  in  faculty,  student  body, 
and  buildings.  Graduate  work 
and  research  also  increased  as  the 
administration  worked  to  attract 
outstanding  and  promising  pro- 
fessors. The  attitude  of  many 
students  took  on  a  new,  bitter 
tinge,  and  the  college  system  re- 


arranged student  housing,  social 
activities,  and  politics.  Almost 
all  the  changes  of  the  fifties 
would  pale  by  comparison  with 
what  was  to  come,  but  consider- 
ing the  period  of  stagnation  in 
the  depression  years  and  the  fran- 
tic war  years  in  the  forties,  the 
fifties  looked  good  indeed  to 
those  interested  in  the  develop- 
ment of  the  Institute.  By  1959 
those  people  thought  that  Rice 
was  ready  to  become  what  Edgar 
Odell  Lovett  had  always  wanted: 
a  university  in  name  as  well  as 
in  fact. 


CHAPTER      9 


New  Plans  to  Fit  a  New  Name 


Edgar  Odell  Lovett  died  in  1957 
at  the  age  of  eighty-six.  After  his 
retirement  in  1946,  he  had  con- 
tinued to  come  to  the  campus,  to 
keep  his  eye  on  what  he  had  buik 
from  an  office  on  the  third  floor 
of  the  Administration  Building, 
now  named  Lovett  Hall.  He  had 
relaxed  a  bit  during  his  years  of 
retirement  and  had  revealed  a 
side  of  his  personality  that  few 
had  seen  before.  Professors  now 
found  him  eager  to  talk  about  the 
Institute,  and  at  a  reception  given 
by  Dean  Richter  for  retired  fac- 
ulty members,  Lovett  was  the  life 
of  the  party.  Newcomers  to  the 
faculty  often  found  that  he  knew 
their  names  and  fields  before 
they  met  him,  and  it  was  always 
difficult  to  get  out  of  his  office  in 
less  than  thirty  minutes  when 
one  dropped  by  to  have  a  few 
words  with  him.  As  a  board  reso- 
lution said  of  him,  he  was  "a  rare 
combination  of  the  dignified 
scholar  and  superb  gentleman." 

Lovett  had  shepherded  the  Rice 
Institute  through  good  and  bad 
times.  He  had  seen  his  hopes  for 


a  world-renowned  university 
threatened  by  the  financial  prob- 
lems of  the  1920s  and  1930s  and 
had  seen  them  rise  again  in  the 
flush  1940s  and  1950s.  When  he 
died,  the  humanities  and  social 
sciences  at  the  Institute  were  fi- 
nally beginning  to  move  toward  a 
balance  with  the  other  side  of  the 
campus,  and  the  college  system 
of  which  he  had  dreamed  in  1912 
was  a  reality.  Lovett  had  called 
Rice  a  university  from  his  first 
connection  with  it;  his  death  pre- 
vented his  seeing  Rice  called 
"university"  in  name. 


Changing  the  Institute's 

Name 

In  December  1959  the  Board  of 
Governors  met  in  special  session 
to  explore  the  possibility  of 
changing  the  name  of  the  Rice 
Institute.  The  term  "institute"  no 
longer  conveyed  the  true  scope  of 
its  educational  program  or  its  sta- 
tus in  the  academic  world,  and 


continued  use  of  the  name  had 
caused  confusion  for  some  time 
among  prospective  students  and 
faculty,  not  to  mention  the  out- 
side world.  A  consensus  of  board 
members  agreed  that  a  change  in 
name  would  be  desirable,  but 
they  decided  to  explore  the  atti- 
tudes of  the  alumni,  faculty,  and 
other  interested  groups  before 
taking  action. 

Legally,  it  would  not  be  diffi- 
cult to  effect  a  change  in  name. 
The  1 89 1  charter  stated  that  the 
Institute  was  to  be  known  "by 
such  a  name  as  the  said  parties  of 
the  second  part  (the  trustees], 
may  in  their  judgment  select." 
From  the  standpoint  of  public 
relations,  however,  the  board 
wanted  to  be  sure  that  the  alumni 
were  on  its  side,  so  it  broke  the 
news  of  its  considerations  in  the 
January  i960  issue  of  Sallyport. 
the  alumni  publication. 

In  the  article,  the  board  out- 
lined a  number  of  reasons  for  its 
proposal.  Confusion  over  the 
term  "institute"  (which  was  pri- 
marily used  to  describe  a  special- 


New  Plans 


197 


purpose  institution  of  noncoUegi- 
ate  rank)  was  only  one.  Rice  was 
increasingly  emphasizing  under- 
graduate, graduate,  and  research 
programs  that  marked  a  genuine 
university,  and  it  needed  to  as- 
sume its  correct  designation. 
Strong  evidence  in  Lovett's  writ- 
ings and  in  early  faculty  actions 
showed  that  the  institution  was 
conceived  and  launched  from  the 
very  beginning  as  a  university.  It 
was  proving  difficult  to  attract 
some  potential  faculty  members, 
especially  in  the  humanities,  be- 
cause they  thought  the  scope  of 
the  Institute  was  limited;  they 
had  usually  heard  of  it  as  a  col- 
lege strongly  oriented  toward 
science  and  engineering.  Some 
private  donors,  corporations,  and 
foundations,  not  knowing  the  In- 
stitute's program,  would  not  con- 
tribute to  a  special-purpose  insti- 
tute, only  to  a  university.  Even 
after  an  effort  to  build  up  the  hu- 
manities, the  Institute  had  found 
it  difficult  to  attract  proper  atten- 
tion to  that  side  of  the  Institute. 
The  trustees  had  also  considered 
the  possibility  of  creating  spe- 
cialized institutes  within  the  uni- 
versity. As  long  as  the  mother 
institution  bore  the  name  "insti- 
tute," confusion  would  reign  and 
it  would  be  impossible  to  develop 
interest  in  and  financial  support 
for  subsidiary  institutes.  Chang- 
ing the  name  to  Rice  University 
would  make  it  possible  for  the 
school  to  improve  its  national 
and  international  standing  and 
would  counter  the  assumption 
that  Rice  was  an  institution  of 
narrow  scope.  Finally,  the  trust- 
ees said,  more  and  better  gradu- 
ate students,  especially  in  the 


area  of  the  humanities,  would  be 
attracted  to  Rice  if  it  were  prop- 
erly named. 

For  those  who  might  not  know 
the  connotations  of  the  term 
"university,"  articles  in  the  same 
issue  of  the  Sallyport  defined 
the  word:  an  institution  of  learn- 
ing of  the  highest  grade,  with  a 
strong  program  of  undergraduate 
instruction;  emphasis  on  the  lib- 
eral artS;  graduate  work,  includ- 
ing the  conferral  of  doctoral 
degrees;  and  significant  research 
activities.  The  Sallyport  pointed 
out  that  Rice  met  all  of  those 
criteria  and  that  other  schools 
such  as  Princeton  and  Harvard 
had  changed  their  names  at  vari- 
ous times.  The  president  of  the 
alumni  association,  George  Red 
'25,  advocated  the  change,  as  did 
H.  Malcolm  Lovett  '21,  who  was 
a  governor  in  1959. 

While  faculty  members  saw 
the  possible  change  as  advan- 
tageous to  the  Institute,  some 
alumni  and  students  clung  nos- 
talgically to  the  old  name.  To  a 
Thresher  poll  the  senior  class 
president  responded,  "Unless  it  is 
necessary,  it  is  regrettable";  but  a 
junior  economics  major  thought 
it  was  "an  intelligent  and  long 
overdue  eradication  of  a  funda- 
mentally unwholesome  condi- 
tion." The  Dallas  Morning  News 
let  it  be  known  that  its  editor  did 
not  approve  of  the  change;  but 
despite  sentiment  and  the  Dallas 
paper,  the  alumni  expressed  very 
little  opposition,  and  the  state- 
wide Executive  Committee  of 
the  alumni  association  voted 
unanimously  to  recommend  the 
change  of  name.  In  March  i960 
the  board  decided  to  proceed. 


On  April  6,  i960,  the  board 
filed  a  petition  for  the  name 
change  with  the  Secretary  of 
State's  office  in  Austin  and  an- 
nounced its  action  to  the  student 
body  in  the  Thresher.  On  July  i, 
i960.  The  William  M.  Rice  Insti- 
tute for  the  Advancement  of  Let- 
ters, Science  and  Art  became 
William  Marsh  Rice  University' 


A  Change  in  Presidents 

A  heart  attack  caused  Dr.  Hous- 
ton to  go  on  leave  for  rest  and 
recuperation  in  August  i960,  and 
in  September,  when  he  found  it 
necessary  to  reduce  his  respon- 
sibilities and  activity  still  further, 
he  resigned  the  presidency.  In  ac- 
cord with  Houston's  suggestion, 
the  board  voted  to  appoint  him 
chancellor,  an  honorary  title  with- 
out duties,  and  Distinguished 
Professor  of  Physics  because  he 
wanted  to  continue  his  teaching 
and  research.  These  designations 
became  effective  February  i, 
1 96 1,  at  which  time  the  board  ap- 
pointed Provost  Carey  Croneis  to 
be  acting  president.  To  find  a  new 
president,  J.  Newton  Rayzor's 
Faculty,  Student,  and  Alumni 
Committee  worked  as  a  search 
committee.  A  faculty  committee 
composed  of  Professors  McKil- 
lop,  Masterson,  Griffis,  Talmage, 
Chapman,  and  McCann  also 
helped.  The  search  did  not  take 
long  this  time.' 

Announcement  of  the  appoint- 
ment of  a  new  president  came  at 
commencement  in  June  1961. 
After  investigating  several  distin- 
guished candidates,  the  board  had 
selected  Kenneth  Sanborn  Pitzer 


New  Plans 


as  Rice's  third  president.  Pitzer,  a 
forty-seven-year-old  native  of 
California,  had  received  his  B.S. 
in  chemistry  from  the  California 
Institute  of  Technology,  where  he 
had  been  in  one  of  Houston's 
classes,  and  his  Ph.D.  from  the 
University  of  California,  Berke- 
ley, where  he  had  been  a  friend  of 
Griffith  Evans.  He  was  a  pro- 
fessor of  chemistry  at  Berkeley 
when  chosen  by  Rice  and  had 
also  been  director  of  research  and 
chair  of  the  General  Advisory 
Committee  of  the  Atomic  Energy 
Commission.  He  was  a  member 
of  both  the  National  Academy  of 
Sciences  and  the  American  Philo- 
sophical Society.  Among  his 
many  awards  were  a  Guggenheim 
fellowship,  an  American  Chemi- 
cal Society  award,  and  the  Alum- 
nus of  the  Year  award  from  the 
University  of  California  Alumni 
Association.  His  major  concerns 
in  his  field  were  the  development 
of  general  principles  for  predict- 
ing chemical  and  physical  prop- 
erties of  broad  classes  of  sub- 
stances, and  he  had  published 
several  books  and  articles.  At  the 
same  commencement  ceremony 
the  board  also  announced  that 
Croneis  would  become  chancel- 
lor with  administrative  respon- 
sibilities and  that  Houston  would 
be  honorary  chancellor.^ 

In  many  ways  Rice  was  at  a 
turning  point  when  Pitzer  took 
over  the  reins  in  1961.  Its  reputa- 
tion for  academic  excellence  and 
for  the  high  quality  of  its  under- 
graduates had  grown  over  the 
years  to  be  a  prime  asset  for  at- 
tracting students  and  faculty, 
although  the  university's  reputa- 
tion continued  to  be  stronger  in 


science  and  engineering  than  in 
the  humanities.  The  graduate 
school  had  strengthened  under 
President  Houston's  leadership, 
but  Rice  still  offered  doctorates 
in  only  a  few  fields.  The  human- 
ities especially  needed  to  be  aug- 
mented, and  even  the  sciences 
needed  more  professors  of  na- 
tional prominence  in  order  for 
the  university  to  gain  high  aca- 
demic ranking. 

As  is  true  for  all  universities, 
the  key  to  expansion  on  both 
graduate  and  undergraduate  lev- 
els was  money;  as  had  so  often 
been  true  in  the  past,  the  univer- 
sity was  operating  extremely 
close  to  the  limit  of  its  income. 
During  the  1950s  income  had  in- 
creased, but  so  had  expenses.  For 
the  fiscal  year  ending  lunc  ^o, 
1952,  income  had  been  $1.8  mil- 
lion and  expenses  $1.7  million 
for  the  educational  and  general 
funds.  For  the  year  ending  June 
30,  1 96 1,  income  had  amounted 
to  $5.2  million  and  expenditures 
to  $4.6  million.  Per  student,  the 
university  had  spent  $1,060  in 
1950;  in  i960  instructional  costs 
were  up  to  $2,031,  and  by  1962 
they  were  almost  $2,400  per  stu- 
dent. Raising  funds  was  not  easy, 
however,  because  Rice's  old,  un- 
warranted reputation  for  wealth 
discouraged  donations.' 

When  the  new  president  ar- 
rived, he  already  had  some  pro- 
grams in  mind  to  transform  Rice 
into  his  conception  of  a  leading 
university.  He  spoke  of  his  ideas 
to  the  faculty,  students,  alumni, 
and  other  friends  of  Rice.  For  the 
graduate  school,  where  his  initial 
emphasis  would  be  placed,  Pitzer 
wanted  a  program  of  modest  size 


but  great  distinction,  staffed  with 
outstanding  teachers  who  were 
also  eminent  in  research,  in  the 
humanities  as  well  as  science  and 
engineering.  He  expected  that  the 
graduate  school  would  double  in 
size,  from  four  hundred  to  about 
eight  hundred  students,  but  with 
more  concern  for  quality  than  for 
mere  quantity.  He  also  proposed 
that  undergraduate  enrollment  be 
increased. 

Pitzer  predicted  that  an  up- 
graded faculty  would  benefit  the 
undergraduate  as  well  as  the  grad- 
uate program,  as  new  depart- 
ments would  attract  good  stu- 
dents. The  faculty  was  the  key  to 
a  university's  reputation;  devel- 
oping a  strong  faculty  required 
attracting  new  people  of  high 
quality  and  scrutinizing  those  al- 
ready employed.  "Doing  reason- 
ably well  will  not  be  good  enough 
at  Rice,"  Pitzer  warned  the  fac- 
ulty. For  evaluating  faculty  per- 
formance, he  wanted  an  easily 
understood  system,  with  clearly 
stated  regular  procedures  for  de- 
termining promotion  and  tenure.' 

With  these  projects  in  mind, 
the  new  president  began  to  put 
together  a  short-range  plan  with 
the  help  of  an  Academic  Devel- 
opment Committee  consisting  of 
Alan  Chapman  (mechanical  engi- 
neering), Gerald  Phillips  (phys- 
ics), and  Donald  Mackenzie 
(languages).  By  the  end  of  1961, 
Pitzer  presented  a  plan  for  the 
next  five  years.  It  assumed  that 
graduate  enrollment  would  dou- 
ble, with  only  a  small  increase  in 
the  number  of  undergraduates. 
More  important  to  Pitzer  than 
size  was  the  quality  of  that  gradu- 
ate program;  he  characterized  the 


New  Plans 


199 


ai  .«    im 


144.  Kenneth  Sanborn  Pitzer,  Rice's  third  president. 


New  Plans 


existing  program  as  "at  best  sec- 
ond rate."  "We  have  far  to  go,"  he 
stated,  "before  our  graduate  pro- 
gram attams  the  first  quahty 
standmg  that  our  undergraduate 
program  has  attained." 

The  short-range  plan  called  for 
substantial  development  m  cer- 
tain fields,  among  them  psychol- 
ogy, political  science,  biochemis- 
try, and  space  science.  There 
would  be  fifty-five  additional  fac- 
ulty positions,  of  which  twenty- 
five  would  be  at  a  senior  level  at 
a  cost  of  $750,000.  The  increase 
in  numbers  of  professors  would 
produce  a  student-teacher  ratio  of 
twelve  to  one  for  undergraduates 
and  seven  to  one  for  graduate 
students.  The  cost  of  an  ad- 
ditional ninety  graduate  fel- 
lowships would  be  $200,000; 
eighteen  new  secretaries  and 
thirty-five  technicians  would 
produce  a  budget  increase  of 
$170,000.  For  the  expanded  pro- 
grams, the  library  budget  would 
need  $200,000  more  per  year, 
while  supplies,  equipment,  and 
overhead  would  cost  $250,000. 

Capital  requirements  included 
a  new  library  or  expansion  of  the 
existing  one,  costing  $1.5  mil- 
lion; another  $300,000  for  special 
collections  in  new  fields;  new 
laboratory  equipment  not  ob- 
tained through  grants  but  costing 
Rice  directly  $500,000;  build- 
ing renovation  for  the  Chemis- 
try Building  in  the  amount  of 
$300,000;  and  $2  million  for  new 
laboratory  buildings  to  provide 
50,000  square  feet.  Altogether 
the  short-range  plan  called  for 
capital  expenditures  over  a  period 
of  three  to  five  years  of  $4.6  mil- 
lion and  an  increase  in  the  an- 


nual operating  cost  of  $1.77 
million  over  the  existing  budget. 
Pitzer  urged  that  the  money  be 
sought  as  quickly  as  possible.  He 
hoped  to  fund  many  of  the  capi- 
tal items  and  professorships 
through  special  donations  and 
endowments. 

Pitzer  also  offered  some 
thoughts  on  long-range  plans  for 
buildings  and  new  academic  pro- 
grams. The  first  buildings  to  be 
constructed  would  house  the  ar- 
chitecture and  fine  arts  depart- 
ments, provide  two  additional 
undergraduate  colleges  (one  for 
men  and  one  for  women),  and 
create  new  housing  units  for  sin- 
gle male  graduate  students  and 
for  married  graduate  students.  As 
for  new  programs,  Pitzer  thought 
that  Rice  should  consider  estab- 
lishing professional  schools  m 
law  and  business  administration, 
as  these  seemed  to  fit  the  needs 
of  Houston  and  Texas. ^ 

None  of  Pitzer's  plans  could 
be  achieved  without  money,  of 
course.  The  board  (especially 
Newton  Rayzor's  Faculty,  Stu- 
dent, and  Alumni  Committee) 
began  to  study  ways  to  raise  the 
funds  that  would  enable  the  pro- 
gram to  proceed.  New  money 
was  coming  into  the  university, 
mostly  in  the  form  of  grants  from 
companies,  foundations,  and  gov- 
ernment agencies;  but  it  was  ear- 
marked for  specific  purposes,  not 
to  be  added  to  the  endowment. 
The  proximity  of  Rice  University 
was  an  important  element  in  the 
choice  of  the  Houston  area  as  the 
site  of  the  National  Aeronautics 
and  Space  Administration,  and 
the  university  could  expect  sub- 
stantial government  aid  and  ben- 


efits to  the  graduate  programs  in 
science  and  mathematics  through 
its  links  with  NASA.  But  that 
was  still  not  enough.  The  univer- 
sity needed  funds  for  all  depart- 
ments, especially  general  funds 
that  the  board  could  apply  wher- 
ever needed.  Gifts  helped,  like 
the  one  from  John  W.  Cox  '27, 
who  gave  the  university  the  lease 
rights  to  the  old  Yankee  Stadium 
in  New  York  City.  However,  a 
university  is  a  great  consumer, 
and  expansion  made  a  long-term 
steady  income  necessary.  It  would 
be  less  difficult  to  manage  the 
initial  expansion  than  the  ongo- 
ing maintenance  of  the  larger 
program." 


The  Move  to  Charge  Tuition 

Private  colleges  and  universities 
usually  raise  some  of  their  money 
by  charging  tuition,  yet  Rice's 
charter  stated  that  the  Institute 
was  to  be  free.  In  1941  the  board 
had  considered  petitioning  for  a 
change  in  the  charter  to  allow  tu- 
ition fees,  but  the  purchase  of  the 
Rincon  oil  field  and  some  timely 
gifts  had  postponed  the  need  to 
take  action  then.  By  i960,  how- 
ever, it  was  becoming  clear  that 
costs  were  rising  and  would  con- 
tinue to  rise  and  that  the  uni- 
versity had  to  investigate  every 
possible  source  of  income.  Fur- 
thermore, the  policy  of  not  charg- 
ing tuition  was  causing  some 
problems  in  securing  grants. 
Some  foundations  refused  to  give 
funds  to  a  university  that  was  not 
actively  using  all  its  resources 
(including  tuition)  to  the  fullest 
and  that  did  not  appear  to  be  am- 


New  Plans 


bitiously  striving  for  educational 
preeminence.  An  institution  that 
had  a  reputation  for  wealth  and 
seemed  to  be  living  comfortably 
and  complacently  on  whatever 
money  came  its  way  gave  the  im- 
pression to  foundations  and  cor- 
porations that  their  gifts  might 
be  used  to  better  effect  else- 
where. Rice's  Board  of  Trustees 
had  always  felt  that  an  image  of 
mercenary  eagerness  was  beneath 
its  dignity.  To  rebut  the  argu- 
ments of  grantors,  however,  the 
board  had  begun  to  consider  the 
question  of  tuition  as  part  of  the 
overall  financial  situation  in 
1961,  even  before  President  Pit- 
zer  made  his  recommendations. ' 
By  January  1962  Rayzor's  com- 
mittee was  ready  to  recommend 
that  the  endowment  be  increased 
by  S20  million  and  that  the  full 
board  consider  charging  tuition. 
In  February  the  committee  rec- 
ommended definite  steps  to  be 
taken  toward  raising  the  funds 
for  an  expanded  program:  a  study 
to  determine  how  tuition  would 
affect  the  numbers  and  quality  of 
students,  and  a  request  that  the 
university's  attorneys  determine 
what  actions  and  information 
were  necessary  for  the  authority 
to  charge  tuition.  With  this  infor- 
mation in  hand,  the  board  could 
decide  how  to  proceed.  In  April 
the  board  further  discussed  intro- 
ducing tuition  step  by  step,  be- 
ginning with  the  freshman  class 
entering  in  September  1963.  A 
scholarship  system  would  accom- 
pany such  a  charge,  and  for  this 
purpose  they  hoped  to  add  S3 3 
million  (instead  of  $20  million) 
to  the  university's  endowment  by 
June  30,  1966.  The  board  as  a 


whole  approved  the  committee 
recommendations  in  principle 
and  directed  its  attorneys  to  initi- 
ate the  legal  proceedings  neces- 
sary to  secure  permission  from 
the  courts  to  charge  tuition.' 

Related  but  at  the  same  time 
separate  was  racial  discrimina- 
tion in  admissions.  Here  again 
loomed  the  charter,  specifying 
that  the  school  was  intended  for 
the  white  inhabitants  of  Texas. 
Although  the  Institute  had  ad- 
mitted students  of  Asian  descent 
for  twenty  years  or  more,  there 
were  still  no  black  students  on 
campus.  Government  research 
contracts  included  nondiscrimi- 
nation clauses,  and  Rice's  segre- 
gation policy,  like  its  lack  of 
tuition,  was  detrimental  to  fund 
raising.  In  May  1962  several 
board  members  thought  that  the 
board  should  not  act  unilaterally 
to  integrate  the  school  and  that 
they  should  defer  any  move  to- 
ward integration.  After  discus- 
sion, the  board  agreed  that  they 
should  try  to  build  favorable  pub- 
lic sentiment  for  both  tuition  and 
integration.  The  lawyers  reported 
in  July  that  the  Texas  attorney 
general  would  cooperate  with  the 
university  in  legal  action  on  both 
questions. 

On  September  16,  1962,  the 
Board  of  Governors  unanimously 
resolved  to  initiate  legal  action  to 
obtain  the  authority  to  admit 
qualified  students  to  the  univer- 
sity without  regard  to  race  or 
color  and  to  charge  tuition.  The 
resolution  stated  that  while 
the  indenture  quoted  in  the  char- 
ter imposed  segregation  on  the 
school  and  limited  the  charging 
of  tuition,  it  also  left  to  the  board 


the  right  to  set  requirements  for 
admission  and  the  obligation  to 
maintain  good  order  and  honor. 
The  world  had  changed  since 
1 89 1;  complexity  and  costs  had 
increased  beyond  any  degree 
imaginable  at  that  time,  and  cus- 
toms, mores,  and  laws  had  also 
changed.  For  the  university  to 
continue  to  develop  as  an  educa- 
tional institution  of  the  highest 
quality,  as  William  Marsh  Rice 
had  desired,  the  university  had  to 
be  free  from  the  restrictive  im- 
plications of  the  language  of  the 
charter. 

A  suit  to  amend  the  charter 
was  filed  m  Judge  Philip  Peden's 
district  court  on  February  21, 
1963.  After  a  challenge  to  the 
trustees'  petition  brought  by 
alumni  John  B.  Coffee  and  Val  T. 
Billups,  a  jury  considered  the 
case  in  Judge  William  Holland's 
court  and  in  February  1964  ruled 
in  favor  of  the  university.  Judge 
Holland's  ruling  held  that  the 
university  was  then  entitled  to 
charge  tuition  and  to  admit  stu- 
dents without  regard  to  color. 
After  an  appeal  by  the  challeng- 
ers, the  Texas  Court  of  Civil  Ap- 
peals in  October  1966  affirmed 
the  judgment  rendered  by  the  dis- 
trict court.  Both  judgments  held 
that  the  restrictive  provisions  m 
the  charter  would  prevent  the 
achievement  of  Mr.  Rice's  main 
purpose,  which  was  the  estab- 
lishment of  an  educational  insti- 
tution of  the  first  class.  Relatively 
certain  of  victory  in  the  courts, 
the  trustees  and  alumni  began 
the  $33  million  campaign  in  the 
spring  of  1965;  by  1969  some  $43 
million  had  been  raised." 


New  Plans 


President  Pitzer's 
Long-Range  Plan 

While  the  board  was  looking  for 
ways  to  raise  money,  President 
Pitzer  began  constructing  his 
long-range  plan  for  the  university. 
First  the  specific  objectives  of  the 
S3 3  million  campaign  had  to  be 
spelled  out.  The  Ford  Foundation 
wanted  more  definite  informa- 
tion before  committing  a  pro- 
posed grant  to  the  university,  and 
Pitzer  desired  a  current  appraisal 
of  his  new  institution.  He  also 
wanted  the  faculty's  evaluation 
of  long-term  possibilities  for  the 
university. 

In  December  1962,  Pitzer  ap- 
pointed an  Academic  Planning 
Committee  composed  initially 
of  professors  Edgar  O.  Edwards 
(economics),  Thomas  W.  Leland 
(chemical  engineering),  Louis 
Mackey  (philosophy),  and  Clark 
P.  Read  (biology).  The  committee 
was  to  prepare  a  plan  for  develop- 
ment, and  it  began  work  in  Janu- 
ary 1963  to  chart  a  realistic 
course  for  the  future,  with  the 
grand  objective  of  making  Rice 
into  the  major  independent  uni- 
versity "of  a  vast  area."  Pitzer's 
shorthand  descriptions  for  his 
projected  university  were,  in 
terms  that  a  westerner  could  un- 
derstand, "Stanford  without  a 
medical  school"  (since  Baylor 
College  of  Medicine  is  across  the 
street),  and  for  an  easterner, 
"Princeton  with  girls."  Pitzer 
knew  that  his  ideal  might  never 
be  realized,  but  it  would  certainly 
provide  a  challenge.  The  commit- 
tee was  to  consider  such  matters 
as  optimum  size  of  the  student 
body  and  faculty  ratios  of  under- 


graduate and  graduate  students  to 
faculty,  expansion  of  existing 
areas  of  study  and  introduction  of 
new  ones,  costs,  and  priorities  for 
development. 

Before  planning  could  begin, 
the  committee  needed  basic 
guidelines  concerning  Rice's 
probable  status  in  various  areas. 
The  president  told  the  committee 
to  assume  that  tuition  and  racial 
restrictions  would  be  removed, 
that  a  large  scholarship  program 
would  be  instituted,  that  Rice 
would  continue  as  a  member  of 
the  Southwest  Conference,  that 
admission  standards  would  re- 
main high,  that  the  college  sys- 
tem would  be  retained,  that  the 
balance  between  general  and  spe- 
cialized studies  would  be  main- 
tained, that  space  science  and 
molecular  biology  would  be  de- 
veloped, and  that  the  emphasis 
on  the  scientific  basis  of  engi- 
neering would  continue.  He  also 
told  the  professors  to  plan  for  a 
balance  between  regional  service 
and  the  broader  service  to  Texas 
that  a  genuinely  international  in- 
stitution would  provide. 

To  help  the  committee,  seven 
faculty  subcommittees  were  ap- 
pointed for  various  tasks.  They 
studied  virtually  every  academic 
area  of  the  university:  old  and 
new  departments,  undergraduate 
and  graduate  education,  research, 
relationships  between  the  univer- 
sity and  the  world  outside,  and 
physical  facilities.  The  commit- 
tee reports  did  triple  duty.  They 
were  incorporated  in  a  self-study 
that  Rice  was  obligated  to  pre- 
pare as  part  of  the  accrediting 
procedure  for  the  Southern  Asso- 
ciation of  Colleges  and  Schools 


under  the  guidance  of  Chancellor 
Croneis.  At  the  same  time  they 
were  used  in  preparing  requests 
for  grants  from  various  founda- 
tions and  agencies.  Their  primary 
purpose,  however,  remained  to 
aid  the  Academic  Planning  Com- 
mittee in  making  its  recommen- 
dations for  the  future. 

In  lune  1963  the  central  com- 
mittee reported  on  its  progress. 
The  members  saw  Rice's  princi- 
pal needs  as  more  distinguished 
professors  and  good  facilities, 
both  as  quickly  as  possible.  The 
committee  called  for  Ss  million 
to  be  raised  by  the  autumn  of 
1964,  as  well  as  new  programs  for 
research  professors,  visiting  pro- 
fessors, and  preceptors  (young 
faculty  members  on  contract  for 
three  years);  an  enlarged  library; 
standard  but  flexible  faculty 
teaching  loads;  increased  re- 
search funds;  and  more  liberal 
faculty  salaries  and  fringe  bene- 
fits to  meet  competition  in  the 
marketplace.  For  students,  the 
committee  spoke  of  more  flex- 
ibility in  the  curriculum  for  the 
first  two  years,  along  with  pro- 
grams better  tailored  to  student 
interests  and  needs  and  some  in- 
terdisciplinary workshops  at  the 
senior  level  (but  no  specific  inter- 
disciplinary programs). 

Several  matters  ought  to  be  fur- 
ther discussed  and  studied,  the 
committee  thought.  First,  what 
exactly  were  the  objectives  of  the 
undergraduate  program  in  gen- 
eral- Was  it  to  be  an  end  in  itself, 
or  preparation  for  graduate  work, 
or  some  combination?  The  com- 
mittee cautioned  that  the  para- 
mount concern  of  any  university 
was  the  education  of  human  be- 


New  Plans 


203 


ings.  Second,  with  respect  to  ad- 
missions, it  appeared  that  as 
many  as  thirty-five  percent  of 
Rice  students  avoided  standard 
requirements  by  participating  in 
athletics,  the  band,  or  the  Naval 
ROTC,  or  through  personal  sta- 
tus or  influence.  The  committee 
suggested  that  the  rate  of  failure 
of  these  special  cases  be  deter- 
mined. Third,  the  committee  re- 
iterated the  long-felt  need  for  a 
better  student  advisory  system. 
Fourth,  President  Pitzer  had  spe- 
cifically asked  the  committee  to 
study  the  minimum  practical 
size  for  a  distinguished  univer- 
sity. It  reported  that  of  those  it 
had  studied,  Princeton  was  the 
smallest  first-rate  university;  its 
student  body  was  double  the  size 
of  Rice's,  but  its  faculty  was 
three  or  four  times  as  large.  The 
committee's  last  recommenda- 
tion was  that  professional  schools 
be  low  in  priority  for  the  mo- 
ment. The  university's  task 
would  be  difficult  enough  with- 
out adding  another  issue. '- 

The  committee's  final  report 
was  made  public  in  the  Ten  Year 
Plan,  published  in  1964.  Rice 
would  expand  on  all  levels.  Ulti- 
mately (in  1975,  according  to  the 
plan),  the  university  was  to  have 
4,000  undergraduate  and  graduate 
students  and  a  faculty  of  400. 
Students  were  to  be  selected  for 
their  high  intellectual  ability 
motivation,  and  personal  qualifi- 
cations, and  the  professors  were 
to  be  the  ablest  men  and  women 
that  Rice  could  attract.  The  en- 
dowment would  have  to  increase 
from  the  1964  level  of  $81  mil- 
lion to  about  $93  million,  and 
the  annual  budget  would  rise 


from  about  $6  million  to  an  ex- 
pected $19  million.  The  $21  mil- 
lion building  program  was  sepa- 
rate from  the  endowment  and 
operating  funds.  It  included  new 
academic  buildings,  new  resi- 
dential colleges,  improvements 
in  existing  structures,  major  pur- 
chases of  laboratory  equipment, 
and  library  acquisitions.  The  plan 
was  extremely  ambitious." 

From  1961  to  1963,  before  pub- 
lication of  the  final  plan.  Presi- 
dent Pitzer  had  seen  that  there 
was  much  to  do.  Administrative 
organization  badly  needed  clar- 
ification and  definition.  The  orig- 
inal Academic  Development 
Committee  had  reported  that  fac- 
ulty members  were  deeply  dis- 
turbed by  the  administrative 
structure — or  more  precisely,  by 
the  lack  of  structure.  In  the  past 
there  had  been  no  clear  lines  of 
authority,  no  administrative 
channels  by  which  requests  were 
made  or  decisions  announced.  A 
faculty  member  might  take  a 
matter  to  his  department  chair- 
man, but  he  might  just  as  readily 
go  to  the  dean  or  for  that  matter 
directly  to  the  president.  In  ear- 
lier days  memoranda  were  not 
kept  of  queries  or  decisions,  and 
departmental  secretaries  had  ap- 
peared on  the  campus  only  in  the 
1950s.  Pitzer  instituted  official 
lines  of  communication,  and  a 
number  of  policy  statements  de- 
fined responsibility  for  various 
administrative  positions.  One 
could  still,  however,  bypass  the 
formal  channels  and  go  straight 
to  the  top.  Like  his  predecessors 
President  Pitzer  was  interested  in 
hearing  directly  from  faculty  and 
students.'" 


A  slight  reorganization  of  the 
administrative  titles,  functions, 
and  personnel  took  place  in  1961 
and  1962.  Sanford  W.  Higgin- 
botham  became  dean  of  students, 
replacing  fames  R.  Sims,  and  the 
office  was  combined  with  that  of 
assistant  to  the  president.  Cath- 
arine Hill  Savage,  who  had  re- 
ceived her  B.A.  from  Rice  in  1955 
and  was  an  advanced  graduate 
student  in  the  French  depart- 
ment, became  adviser  to  women 
in  1 96 1  and  was  succeeded  in 
1962  by  Alma  L.  Lowe,  the  first 
woman  to  hold  the  title  "dean  of 
women."  Also  in  1962,  G.  Fiolmes 
Richter,  who  had  been  the  dean 
of  the  university,  became  dean  of 
graduate  studies,  and  the  old  of- 
fice that  had  for  so  long  been 
called  simply  "the  dean"  existed 
no  more." 

The  lack  of  a  tenure  policy 
mirrored  the  absence  of  admin- 
istrative structure  at  Rice,  and 
some  faculty  members  had  begun 
to  lobby  for  definition  in  this 
area  as  well.  Under  President 
Lovett  and  on  through  William 
Houston's  presidency,  someone 
(possibly  the  president  but  prob- 
ably the  dean)  usually  told  a 
new  member  of  the  faculty  after 
a  year  or  two  (ordinarily  two) 
whether  his  career  at  Rice  was 
expected  to  be  long  or  brief.  If  he 
was  expected  to  remain,  he  re- 
ceived an  annual  notice  of  reap- 
pointment along  with  a  state- 
ment of  his  next  year's  salary.  In 
practice,  faculty  members,  even 
assistant  professors,  assumed 
that  they  had  tenure  even  though 
it  had  not  formally  been  granted. 
The  result  of  this  procedure  was 
clear:  first-class  people  who 


204 


New  Plans 


might  have  stayed  with  the  re- 
ward of  tenure  did  not  have  the 
incentive  to  remain;  mediocre 
professors  who  could  not  have 
passed  a  formal  tenure  review  en- 
joyed a  high  degree  of  job  security 
and  were  difficult  to  remove  from 
the  faculty.  A  period  of  two  years 
was  hardly  enough  time  to  judge 
the  abilities  of  a  new  faculty 
member  effectively,  and  if  the  de- 
cision makers  guessed  poorly,  the 
university  had  to  live  with  the 
mistake.  Since  the  academic 
world  was  becoming  more  mo- 
bile, there  was  no  reason  to  sup- 
pose that  really  outstanding 
professors  would  remain  at  Rice. 
Rice's  ad  hoc  process  seemed  al- 
most guaranteed  to  produce  a 
second-rate  faculty. 

However,  the  system  did  have 
some  positive  aspects.  New  fac- 
ulty members  had  time  to  de- 
velop professional  competence 
and  were  spared  the  gnawing  un- 
certainty of  an  untenured  posi- 
tion. At  other  universities  the 
scramble  for  tenure  often  led  to 
petty  personal  rivalries,  publica- 
tion of  trivia  for  the  sake  of  pub- 
lishing, and  neglect  of  teaching 
to  win  a  reputation  for  scholar- 
ship. As  long  as  Rice  was  small, 
the  university  could  minimize 
the  disadvantages  of  its  informal 
tenure  system.  As  long  as  it  de- 
veloped slowly,  strengthening 
only  a  few  departments  at  a  time, 
it  could  and  often  did  leave  its 
second-  and  third-rate  people  in 
place.  If,  however.  Rice  was  to  be- 
come a  first-rate  university  in  all 
fields,  it  could  not  afford  to  keep 
unproductive  faculty  or  to  con- 
tinue without  a  formal  mecha- 


nism for  evaluation  that  included 
clearly  written  procedures. 

In  i960  the  Rice  chapter  of  the 
American  Association  of  Uni- 
versity Professors  discussed  the 
matter  of  tenure  with  acting  pres- 
ident Croneis  and  the  board.  Re- 
flecting the  national  trend  toward 
tenure  in  higher  education,  Pit- 
zer's  first  Academic  Develop- 
ment Committee  recommended 
a  stated  tenure  policy  as  neces- 
sary to  attract  superior  profes- 
sors; early  in  1962  the  president 
submitted  a  tenure  system  for 
board  approval.  In  lanuary  the 
board  approved  the  system  and  in 
March  confirmed  the  status  (ei- 
ther with  tenure  or  on  a  one-  to 
three-year  appointment)  of  all 
faculty  members.' 

Expansion  of  the  faculty  began 
even  before  the  final  plan  was 
adopted.  What  had  begun  under 
President  Houston  continued 
during  Carey  Croneis's  brief  term 
as  acting  president  and  increased 
under  Kenneth  Pitzer.  From 
about  130  in  19 S7,  faculty  num- 
bers rose  to  over  150  in  i960  and 
to  183  (17s  men,  8  women)  in 
1962.  Additions  to  the  ranks  in 
the  late  19SOS  and  early  1960s  in- 
cluded William  Caudill  in  archi- 
tecture, Edgar  O.  Edwards  and 
Gaston  Rimlinger  in  economics, 
Thomas  Rabson  in  electrical  en- 
gineering, Alan  Grob  and  Walter 
Isle  in  English,  and  Frederic  Wie- 
runi  and  lames  Wilhoit  in  me- 
chanical engineering.  Economics 
historian  Louis  Galambos,  Bis- 
marck and  Roosevelt  scholar 
Francis  Loewenheim,  southern 
historian  Sanford  W.  Higgin- 
botham,  and  Austrian  specialist 


R.  |ohn  Rath  joined  history,  while 
lean-Claude  DeBremaecker  went 
to  geology  and  Paul  Donoho  to 
physics.  The  cheerful  Scot  Don- 
ald Mackenzie  came  to  teach 
classics;  archaeologist  Frank 
Hole  and  Japan  scholar  Edward 
Norbeck  constituted  the  new  de- 
partment of  anthropology;  Alex- 
ander Dessler  headed  the  space 
science  department,  the  first 
such  department  in  the  country. 

The  board  did  not  forget  those 
outstanding  professors  now  at 
the  compulsory  retirement  age. 
Believing  that  some  of  these  men 
could  still  be  useful  to  Rice,  the 
board,  at  Rayzor's  suggestion, 
created  the  position  of  Trustee 
Distinguished  Professor  for  cer- 
tain honored  faculty  members, 
who  would  continue  some  teach- 
ing and  research  after  official  re- 
tirement. Each  was  limited  to 
teaching  six  hours  a  semester.  By 
1963  Professors  Chillman,  Bray, 
McKillop,  and  Tsanoff  had  been 
chosen  for  this  position.' 

To  be  a  university  of  national 
and  international  stature,  Pitzer 
thought  that  Rice  needed  a  more 
comprehensive  curriculum;  and 
as  new  teachers  were  hired,  the 
course  list  expanded.  The  hu- 
manities and  social  sciences,  un- 
emphasized  for  so  long,  finally 
began  to  come  into  their  own. 
New  departments  such  as  fine 
arts  and  the  anthropology-sociol- 
ogy combination  (sociology  was 
transferred  from  its  odd-fellow 
combination  with  economics  and 
business  administration),  an  ex- 
panded foreign  language  depart- 
ment, and  new  offerings  in  estab- 
lished departments  strengthened 


New  Plans 


205 


the  undergraduate  level.  By  1962 
Rice  offered  doctorates  in  eco- 
nomics, German,  and  philosophy 
along  with  those  previously  es- 
tablished in  history,  English,  and 
French.  Curriculum  additions  in 
the  sciences  and  engineering 
were  mainly  on  the  graduate 
level.  Both  humanities  and  the 
sciences  benefited  from  a  pro- 
gram for  college  teacher  educa- 
tion assisted  by  the  Ford  Foun- 
dation. Under  this  program, 
designed  to  answer  the  national 
need  for  college  teachers,  a  stu- 
dent was  able  to  complete  all  re- 
quirements for  the  master's  de- 
gree and  be  well  on  the  way  to  a 
doctorate  within  five  years  of  en- 
tering the  university. 

In  i960  and  1961  the  campus 
received  the  good  news  that  two 
more  buildings  would  be  con- 
structed to  house  some  of  the  ac- 
ademic expansion.  In  i960  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  J.  Newton  Rayzor  gave 
the  university  money  for  a  new 
building  for  the  humanities. 
Rayzor  Hall  was  placed  at  right 
angles  to  the  library,  across  the 
quadrangle  from  Anderson  Hall. 
In  1962  Professor  and  Mrs.  L.  B. 
Ryon  bequeathed  their  entire  es- 
tate for  a  new  engineering  labora- 
tory building.  Ryon  had  been  at 
Rice  for  forty-five  years,  having 
come  as  an  instructor  in  civil  en- 
gineering in  1917  and  retired  as 
a  professor  in  1958.  The  Ryon 
Laboratory  site  was  to  the  west 
of  the  Mechanical  Laboratory 
Building.'" 


145.  Rayzor  Hall  during  construction.  May  10,  1961. 


Further  Changes  in  the 
Curriculum 

Although  there  is  little  evidence 
that  student  opinion  directly  in- 
fluenced curriculum  changes,  the 
cries  of  undergraduates  did  not 
go  unheard.  The  faculty  made 
small  changes  in  the  require- 
ments to  introduce  a  wider  range 
of  electives  and  greater  flexibility. 
Groups  A,  B,  and  C  were  rede- 
fined to  include  the  new  offerings. 
In  place  of  simply  languages, 
literature,  and  music,  the  new 
Group  A  offered  architecture, 
classics,  English,  fine  arts,  for- 
eign languages,  history,  human- 
ities, music,  and  philosophy.  In 
place  of  history,  social  studies. 


philosophy,  and  education.  Group 
B  now  had  anthropology,  eco- 
nomics and  business  administra- 
tion, education,  political  science, 
psychology,  and  sociology.  In  ad- 
dition to  biology,  chemistry, 
physics,  mathematics,  and  geol- 
ogy, and  in  place  of  psychology, 
Group  C  included  engineering 
and  space  science.  The  language 
requirement  was  changed  to  al- 
low students  to  take  whatever 
languages  they  liked.  (In  1962- 
63  the  foreign  language  depart- 
ment offered  French,  German, 
Spanish,  Greek,  Latin,  and  Rus- 
sian in  at  least  the  100  and  200 
levels.)  The  nemesis  of  so  many. 
Math  100,  was  split  into  Math 
100  for  science-engineers  and 


206 


New  Plans 


Math  loi  for  academic  students 
in  1960;  some  third-  and  fourth- 
year  engineering  courses  were 
changed  to  increase  emphasis  on 
the  science  underlying  modern 
engineering;  and  the  third-year 
science  requirement  was  dropped 
for  academic  students  of  the  class 
entering  in  1962. 

These  redefinitions  and  addi- 
tions did  not  really  change  the 
curriculum.  Its  basic  premise  was 
still  to  introduce  breadth  into 
each  major  program  by  means  of 
outside  electives  or  diversifica- 
tion requirements,  and  several 
of  the  old  problems  remained. 
There  was  still  no  agreement 
among  the  faculty  about  what 
specific  courses  constituted  a 
"well-rounded"  education.  There 
was  a  general  consensus  that 
every  student  should  be  exposed 
to  a  variety  of  subjects  within 
major  divisions — that  everyone 
should  study  some  math,  some 
history,  and  so  forth.  Exceptions 
to  the  requirements  were  still 
allowed,  though,  and  some  de- 
partments were  still  "strongly  ad- 
vising" their  students  to  take  cer- 
tain electives  closely  related  to 
the  major.  The  Self-Study  report 
pointed  out  these  controversies 
and  commented  on  the  difficulty 
of  assessing  the  effectiveness  of 
the  curriculum,  but  it  made  no 
recommendations  for  the  future. 

A  perennial  question,  some 
faculty  members  thought,  was 
how  to  treat  athletes.  The  faculty 
perceived  a  conflict  between  aca- 
demic and  athletic  interests  in 
colleges  and  universities  nation- 
wide, and  Rice  was  no  exception. 
Some  thought  that  the  presence 
of  the  athletes  and  their  separate 


Department  of  Health  and  Physi- 
cal Education  lowered  standards 
for  the  university  as  a  whole.  A 
vocal  group  rankled  at  the  special 
consideration  given  to  athletes  at 
admission  time  and  the  rumored 
(but  never  substantiated)  special 
academic  consideration  they  re- 
ceived. While  many  faculty  mem- 
bers recognized  that  the  intel- 
lectual caliber  of  the  students 
admitted  under  the  athletic  quota 
was  constantly  rising,  that  some 
Rice  athletes  in  recent  years  had 
been  outstanding  scholars,  and 
that  more  were  able  to  carry  a 
normal  course  load  in  addition  to 
the  demands  of  their  sport,  they 
still  saw  problems. 

In  i960  a  special  faculty  com- 
mittee on  the  athletic  curricu- 
lum began  to  study  a  new  pro- 
gram for  athletes.  The  committee 
recommended  a  new  course  of 
study  toward  a  business  admin- 
istration degree.  Called  the  com- 
merce curriculum,  the  plan 
reasonably  assumed  that  most 
college  athletes  would  go  into 
some  form  of  business  after  grad- 
uation, not  into  coaching  or 
teaching.  This  curriculum  was 
placed  before  the  whole  faculty 
in  1 96 1  and  was  vigorously  de- 
bated. Those  who  objected  to  it 
claimed  that  it  would  depress  ac- 
ademic standards  in  the  interests 
of  championship  football,  and 
they  said  that  they  thought  foot- 
ball and  a  first-class  university 
were  incompatible.  Those  in 
favor  of  the  plan  advocated  pro- 
viding for  students  who  were 
going  to  be  on  campus  whether 
members  of  the  faculty  liked  it  or 
not  (the  board  had  just  reaffirmed 
the  university's  commitment  to 


athletics  in  the  Southwest  Con- 
ference), and  ridiculed  the  claim 
that  one  department  or  course  of 
study  could  lower  the  standards 
of  the  entire  university.  The  com- 
merce curriculum  passed  the  fac- 
ulty by  a  vote  of  67  to  5 1  on  the 
first  vote  and  65  to  56  on  the 
second."' 


Admissions  Procedures 

Despite  continual  worries  about 
the  abilities  of  incoming  fresh- 
men, admission  procedures 
changed  little.  Under  director  of 
admissions  James  B.  Giles,  who 
had  assumed  that  position  in 
1957,  the  Admissions  Committee 
retained  its  quota  system,  group- 
ing students  by  science-engineer- 
ing, academic,  and  architecture 
divisions.  Physical  education  ma- 
jors had  always  entered  under  a 
separate  system.  In  the  1961-62 
catalog.  College  Entrance  Exam- 
ination Board  examinations  were 
declared  mandatory,  and  the 
quota  system  was  mentioned  spe- 
cifically. There  was  a  quota  of 
sorts  for  women:  the  number  of 
women  in  the  academic  curricu- 
lum was  limited  to  the  number 
of  men  admitted  under  that  cur- 
riculum. On  the  other  hand, 
there  was  no  limit  for  the  num- 
ber of  women  admitted  to 
science-engineering  and  archi- 
tecture. Few  women  applied  to 
those  divisions,  anyway.  Whether 
Rice's  single  dormitory  for  women 
affected  the  number  of  non- 
Houston  women  admitted  is 
unclear,  but  once  the  second 
women's  college  was  built  in 
1966,  the  number  of  out-of-town 


New  Plans 


women  increased.  One  thing  was 
clear:  by  i960  Rice  was  no  longer 
having  difficulty  attracting 
students." 

A  continuing  dilemma  was 
the  admission  of  out-of-state 
students.  By  limiting  their  num- 
ber, Rice  had  to  turn  down  some 
outstanding  candidates,  but  the 
charter  stated  that  the  school  was 
intended  to  educate  residents  of 
Houston  and  Texas.  On  the  other 
hand,  if  Rice  aspired  to  be  more 
than  a  state  or  regional  institu- 
tion, it  had  to  admit  more  of 
those  it  attracted  from  outside. 
Eventually  the  non-Texan  enroll- 
ment was  raised  to  thirty-five  or 
forty  percent,  a  figure  that  seemed 
to  ensure  admission  of  the  most 
able  students  in  both  categories." 


The  "Rice  Myth" 

By  the  early  1960s,  incoming 
Rice  undergraduates  had  heard 
quite  a  bit  about  the  excellence 
of  the  school's  standing.  Rice's 
regional  reputation  remained 
high,  and  its  research  and  schol- 
arly achievements  had  gained 
some  prominence  nationally  and 
internationally.  Discussion  about 
turning  Rice  into  a  first-rate  uni- 
versity stimulated  some  students 
to  consider  their  own  situation, 
though  their  conclusions  did  not 
always  match  some  of  the  glow- 
ing praise  they  were  hearing.  The 
school  year  1960-61  seems  to  be 
the  point  at  which  students  be- 
gan to  reexamine  their  own  edu- 
cational experiences  at  Rice;  it 
was  a  year  when  several  popular 
professors  left.  Their  student  sup- 
porters claimed  that  they  were 


excellent  teachers  who  chal- 
lenged them  to  do  more  than 
memorize.  An  angry  Thresher 
editorial  in  1961  charged  that 
Rice  could  not  be  one  of  the  na- 
tion's finest  schools,  because  its 
faculty  contained  too  many  peo- 
ple lacking  in  "academic  vitality" 
and  because  dynamic  newcomers 
often  resigned  to  escape  what 
some  students  saw  as  a  stifling, 
provincial,  closed-minded  atmo- 
sphere. The  idea  that  Rice  was 
the  "Harvard  of  the  South"  was  a 
myth,  the  vociferous  students 
claimed. 

By  1962-63  corroboration  and 
rebuttal  for  the  existence  of  a 
"Rice  myth"  were  coming  from 
several  directions,  and  the  dis- 
cussion widened  to  include  all 
phases  of  undergraduate  life.  Stu- 
dents, particularly  those  in  the 
academic  division,  criticized  the 
grading  system,  the  quality  of  in- 
struction, the  position  of  the  hu- 
manities in  relation  to  science 
and  engineering  (commonly 
called  the  "lag"  of  the  human- 
ities), the  limited  holdings  of  the 
library,  and  the  merits  of  the  col- 
lege system.  Grading  and  instruc- 
tion seemed  to  be  the  focus  of 
discussion,  perhaps  because  it 
was  in  the  classroom  that  the 
students  confronted  the  system 
head-on. 

Grades  at  Rice,  the  students 
claimed,  were  still  overempha- 
sized and  maintained  at  artifi- 
cially low  levels,  producing  both 
apathy  about  learning  and  the 
phenomenon  of  "grade-grubbing" 
(the  pursuit  of  grades  instead  of 
knowledge).  Grade-grubbing  had 
its  roots  early  in  the  student's 
school  career,  as  the  result  of 


pressure  from  parents  and  sec- 
ondary schools;  no  one  blamed 
solely  the  grading  system  at  Rice, 
but  its  system  certainly  contrib- 
uted. Furthermore,  to  the  outside 
world,  grades  were  earned  on  an 
absolute  scale,  and  Rice  students 
who  were  not  at  the  top  of  their 
classes  often  faced  unexpected 
difficulty  getting  into  graduate 
and  professional  schools  because 
of  their  records,  even  though 
they  performed  well  on  the  Grad- 
uate Record  Examinations. 

Faculty  members  agreed  with 
many  of  the  student  criticisms 
and  began  to  say  so  in  committee 
reports.  Thresher  articles,  and 
communications  with  the  presi- 
dent and  deans.  In  the  fall  semes- 
ter of  1 96 1,  grades  were  distrib- 
uted as  shown  in  Table  i.  In  the 
class  of  1962,  thirty-eight  percent 
of  the  students  were  on  probation 
at  some  time  (twenty-one  percent 
were  on  probation  once  and  sev- 
enteen percent  twice);  and  thirty- 
six  percent  of  the  class  withdrew 
before  graduation,  twenty-seven 
percent  voluntarily  and  nine  per- 
cent involuntarily." 

Such  a  grade  distribution  was 
not  anomalous  with  that  of  other 
selective  institutions,  such  as  the 
University  of  California,  Berke- 
ley, the  University  of  Pennsyl- 
vania, the  University  of  Chicago, 
or  the  Massachusetts  Institute  of 
Technology.  However,  it  indi- 
cated to  some  professors  that  the 
overall  grading  standard  at  Rice 
was  inconsistent  with  the  high 
quality  of  the  undergraduate  stu- 
dent body.  The  Subcommittee  on 
the  Program  on  Undergraduate 
Instruction  of  the  Academic 
Planning  Committee  commented 


208 


New  Plans 


TABLE    I 

Distribution  of  Grcuk-s.  Fall  796/ 


Number 


loo-level  courses  y.s""  27.7%  ^9.6%  is. 9%  7.^%  2,792 

200-level  courses  9.9  t,H.i  ^1.8  10.9  4.^  2,182 

■500-level  courses  12.6  40.7  34. s  90  t,.i  2,182 

400-level  courses  12. i  35.3  36.1  11.6  4.8  8,373 

Figures  do  not  include  withdrawals  or  35  "satisfactory"  grades  in  400-level  courses. 
The  total  number  of  grades  is  in  the  last  column,  and  percentages  do  not  always 
total  100  percent. 


in  its  progress  report  that  the 
grading  system  appeared  to  be  dc- 
morahzmg  many  students;  the 
committee  members  beUeved 
that  many  individual  teachers 
and  some  departments  were  "in- 
discriminate" in  awarding  low 
grades.  Donald  Mackenzie  wrote 
to  President  Pitzer:  "The  present 
system  does,  I  believe,  impair  our 
effectiveness:  the  morale  of  our 
students  is  lowered,  and  they 
tend  to  become  discouraged  and 
dissatisfied,  rather  than  encour- 
aged to  find  the  joy  in  learning 
which  inspires  true  scholarship. 
High  standards  are  created 
through  excellence  in  instruc- 
tion, not  in  low  grades."'' 

Although  the  Committee  on 
Examinations  and  Standing  could 
find  little  conclusive  evidence  of 
irregularities  or  injustices  in  the 
grade  distribution  data,  it  recom- 
mended that  all  departments 
consider  and  discuss  at  length 
freshmen  and  sophomore  courses 
especially.  It  encouraged  faculty 
members  to  pay  particular  atten- 
tion to  grading,  presentation,  and 
content,  taking  into  account  the 
students'  preparation,  future  ob- 


jectives, and  the  work  load.  They 
should  try  to  estimate  the  time 
needed  for  an  average  student  to 
do  all  assignments  adequately. 

The  most  notorious  course  for 
failures  was  still  Math  100,  even 
without  the  academic  students, 
who  had  moved  over  to  Math 
loi.  In  1961,  24.1  percent  of 
Math  100  students  made  IVs  and 
19.8  percent  made  Vs.  In  1963 
the  figures  were  19.0  percent  and 
21.8  percent  respectively.  A  de- 
fender for  the  mathematics  de- 
partment spoke  in  the  Thresher 
of  a  "very  difficult  and  demand- 
ing course"  and  claimed  that  part 
of  the  result  was  due  to  the  "gen- 
erally weak  high  school  prepara- 
tion" of  most  of  the  students. 
The  next  week  a  humanist  asked 
how  it  could  be  that  the  students 
were  unprepared,  when  8  per- 
cent of  the  freshman  class  had 
scored  above  1 30  on  the  National 
Merit  Qualifying  Test  and  when 
the  class  average  on  the  mathe- 
matics aptitude  section  of  the 
College  Boards  was  701  out  of  a 
possible  800  points.  In  1964  the 
failure  rates  for  Math  100  were 
still  a  high  13.9  percent  IVs  and 


24. s  percent  Vs;  the  Self-Study 
report  stated,  "Obviously  this  sit- 
uation reflects  an  unrealistic 
grading  standard,  especially  in 
view  of  the  fact  that  Rice  fresh- 
men are  selected  on  the  basis  of 
their  promise  in  mathematics." 
The  alarming  failure  rate  was 
eliminated  only  by  abolishing  the 
requirement  that  every  freshman 
take  a  form  of  Math  100.'- 

Discussion  of  the  quality  of  in- 
struction involved  more  than 
methods;  it  extended  to  the  ob- 
jectives, principles,  and  impor- 
tance of  undergraduate  education 
in  general  and  the  place  of  under- 
graduate instruction  in  a  univer- 
sity that  emphasized  research 
and  graduate  studies.  Hearing  an- 
nouncements about  the  antici- 
pated growth  of  the  graduate 
school  and  reading  about  more 
and  more  research  grants,  some 
undergraduates  became  appre- 
hensive about  their  position. 
They  were  not  alone  in  their  con- 
cern; faculty  members  had  been 
discussing,  in  one  form  or  an- 
other, the  place  and  purpose  of 
undergraduate  instruction  even 
before  the  Academic  Planning 
Committee  and  its  subcommit- 
tees were  created. 

The  enduring  question  con- 
cerned the  purpose  of  an  under- 
graduate education:  was  it  prepa- 
ration for  graduate  study,  or  an 
end  in  itself  for  those  going  no 
further  than  a  well-rounded  B.A. 
degree-  Most  people  felt  that  the 
solution  should  provide  for  both 
eventualities  within  the  same 
basic  curriculum.  However,  there 
were  additional  considerations. 

A  university  has  two  purposes: 
production  of  new  knowledge 


New  Plans 


209 


through  research  and  study,  and 
production  of  knowledgeable 
graduates.  Professors  should  be 
able  to  conduct  research  in  their 
fields  as  well  as  teach.  The  prob- 
lem was  of  course  that  twenty- 
four  hours  a  day  were  simply  not 
enough  for  one  person  to  prepare 
lectures  and  teach,  carry  on  re- 
search and  writing,  attend  the 
numerous  committee  meetings 
by  which  the  university  ran  it- 
self, counsel  students,  and  an- 
swer other  personal  demands.  It 
was  necessary  to  set  priorities.  In 
1963  both  the  dean  of  humanities 
and  the  dean  of  engineering  told 
the  Academic  Planning  Commit- 
tee that  the  university  needed 
to  emphasize  teaching — to  re- 
ward classroom  proficiency  and 
lighten  the  class  load  to  allow 
more  preparation  time. 

President  Pitzer  told  a  meeting 
of  students  that  he  believed  a  de- 
partment should  concentrate  its 
best  talent  at  the  beginning  lev- 
els, because  "that's  where  the 
most  souls  are  saved."  Although 
professors  and  departments  tried 
several  different  methods  of  re- 
wards and  types  of  organization 
over  the  ensuing  years  with  vary- 
ing degrees  of  success,  the  major 
problems — preparation  time, 
evaluation  of  teaching,  and  re- 
wards— remained.  Students  con- 
tinued to  complain  and  to  cling 
to  the  few  teachers  whom  they 
considered  really  inspiring  as 
proof  that  they  were  not  wasting 
their  time.'* 


Student  Activities 

Although  it  was  fashionable  to  be 
cynical  towards  Rice,  most  stu- 
dents still  enjoyed  the  university 
experience  in  the  early  1960s. 
With  the  advent  of  the  college 
system  and  the  building  of  a  ball- 
room in  the  student  center  and 
an  auditorium  in  Hamman  Hall, 
many  on-campus  students  found 
that  they  had  little  need  to  leave 
campus  at  all.  They  only  had  to 
make  a  quick  trip  to  the  nearby 
Village  shopping  area  for  articles 
unavailable  on  campus,  or  to  eat 
on  the  days  when  the  colleges  did 
not  serve  food.  Dances,  plays, 
football  games,  visiting  outside 
lecturers,  and  college  functions 
could  all  now  take  place  on 
campus. 

The  drinking  age  in  Texas  was 
still  twenty-one  at  the  time,  and 


no  alcohol  was  allowed  on  cam- 
pus. The  liquor  laws  drove  many 
parties  outside  the  hedges,  but  it 
was  still  possible  to  ignore  the 
rest  of  the  city  for  much  of  col- 
lege life.  Big  dances  such  as  Ron- 
delet,  the  Senior  Dance,  the 
literary  societies'  formals,  and 
other  such  events  usually  took 
place  at  a  hotel  or  country  club, 
but  the  Beer-Bike  Race  was  run 
every  spring  on  campus.  No 
longer  did  the  riders  both  drink 
and  ride — that  had  proved  en- 
tirely too  dangerous — but  teams 
of  riders  and  drinkers  practiced 
for  months  on  their  respective 
specialties.  In  1961  the  record  for 
drinking  twenty-four  ounces  of 
beer  was  3.2  seconds,  and  for  rid- 
ing the  loop  road  around  the  cen- 
tral campus  it  was  2  minutes  and 
8  seconds. 
The  administration  brought 


146.  Rondelet  dance,  1962-63  school  year. 


New  Plans 


147.  Will  Rice  College  Chorus.  1962-63. 


one  student  pastime  to  a  halt  for 
a  while.  In  their  disorganized 
warfare  with  members  of  other 
colleges,  the  men  had  refined 
water-bomb  throwmg  (propelling 
balloons  partially  filled  with  wa- 
ter) by  using  slingshots  made 
with  surgical  tubing,  to  the  ex- 
tent that  one  missile  was  capable 
of  breaking  a  window.  Being  Rice 
students,  they  also  calculated  the 
muzzle  velocity  for  these  water 
cannons.  The  destruction  caused 
by  these  skirmishes  resulted 


in  the  banning  of  water  fights 
and  payment  for  repairs  by  the 
students. 

"Rice's  Honor,"  the  school 
song,  caused  some  argument  in 
1962.  Many  students  and  alumni 
did  not  think  that  a  song  that 
emphasized  "fighting  on"  and 
that  was  sung  to  the  same  tune 
as  many  high  school  songs  was 
appropriate  for  serious  academic 
occasions.  Although  it  had  been 
used  only  infrequently,  "The  Rice 
Hymn,"  composed  in  1947  by 


Rice  alumni  Louis  Girard  and 
Nealie  Ross,  was  proposed  as  a 
substitute.  In  1962  lyrics  were 
written  for  Sibelius's  "Finlandia," 
but  neither  anthem  caught  on 
and  attempts  to  press  for  their 
use  were  dropped. 

Students,  faculty,  and  friends  of 
Rice  had  the  chance  to  see  and 
hear  a  number  of  important 
speakers  in  the  early  1960s.  Two 
Presidents  of  the  United  States 
came  to  campus,  Dwight  D. 
Eisenhower  in  i960  for  a  non- 


New  Plans 


148.  The  visit  of  President  Eisenhower  to  Rice.  October  i960. 


New  Plans 


149.  The  visit  of  President  Kennedy.  September  19(12.  (©  1962,  Aubrey  Calvin) 


political  address  and  John  F.  Ken- 
nedy in  1962  for  a  speech  on 
space  exploration.  In  1962  and 
1963  some  of  the  most  promi- 


nent scholars  in  the  world  spoke 
on  the  Rice  campus.  The  1962- 
6  3  academic  year  marked  the 
fiftieth  anniversary  of  the  Insti- 


tute's opening,  and  the  semicen- 
tennial celebration  rivaled  the 
ceremonies  of  1912."' 


CHAPTER      10 


Semicentennial 


As  in  1912,  so  it  was  in  1962. 
Again  invitations  went  out  to 
universities,  colleges,  and  insti- 
tutes, to  learned  and  professional 
societies.  The  Board  of  Governors 
and  the  faculty  of  William  Marsh 
Rice  University  would  inaugurate 
the  university's  third  president 
and  celebrate  its  semicentennial 
with  an  academic  festival  on  Oc- 
tober 10,  II,  and  12.  Would  the 
invited  institution  send  a  repre- 
sentative to  attend  the  festivities- 
Again  the  replies  came,  this  time 
from  Oxford,  Zurich,  Toronto,  Is- 
tanbul, Mexico  City,  and  Taiwan, 
from  the  National  Academy  of 
the  Lincei  in  Rome,  the  National 
Academy  of  Sciences,  the  Ameri- 
can Geophysical  Union,  and  the 
Institute  of  Aerospace  Sciences, 
from  Stanford,  Columbia,  Chi- 
cago, Notre  Dame,  Wellesley,  and 
UCLA.  Rice's  fellow  halls  of 
learning  were  pleased  to  congrat- 
ulate the  university  on  its  fiftieth 
anniversary  and  to  send  a  dele- 
gate for  the  celebrations. 

Planning  for  the  semicenten- 
nial had  begun  in  i960.  The  com- 


mittee that  was  placed  in  charge 
by  the  board  had  as  its  honorary 
chairman  Professor  Harold  A. 
Wilson,  a  member  of  the  original 
faculty.  The  cochairmen  were 
governors  H.  Malcolm  Lovett  '21 
and  John  D.  Simpson  '31;  Chan- 
cellor Carey  Croneis  was  the  ex- 
ecutive director.  The  committee 
planned  an  extensive  celebration, 
not  to  be  confined  to  only  three 
days.  It  was  to  stretch  through- 
out the  school  year,  with  special 
speakers,  symposia,  and  other 
programs  in  each  department  of 
the  university.  And  this  time  the 
students  would  not  be  left  out. 

There  had  been  significant 
changes  in  Houston  since  the 
time  of  the  first  festival.  It  had 
grown  from  a  small  city  to  the 
largest  in  Texas,  with  a  popula- 
tion of  950,000  in  the  city  itself 
and  1,250,000  in  the  metro- 
politan area.  The  area  was  known 
throughout  the  United  States  and 
beyond  for  its  petrochemical  in- 
dustries, its  wealth,  and  the  aero- 
space complex.  Houston  had 
several  universities,  many  cul- 


tural attractions,  and  interna- 
tional connections.  It  was  no 
longer  strange  to  see  prominent 
philosophers,  physicists,  authors, 
artists,  anthropologists,  and 
chemists  there. 

In  addition  to  the  inauguration 
of  the  series  of  lectures,  the  cere- 
monies were  to  include  presenta- 
tions of  Medals  of  Honor  and 
Certificates  of  Merit  to  each  of 
the  speakers  and  to  some  of  the 
university  family.  Hubert  E.  Bray, 
James  H.  Chillman,  William  V. 
Houston,  Alan  D.  McKillop, 
Radoslav  A.  Tsanoff,  and  Harold 
A.  Wilson  were  the  Rice  pro- 
fessors being  honored.  The  guests 
who  gave  lectures  included  histo- 
rian Arnold  Toynbee  of  the  Brit- 
ish Royal  Institute  of  Interna- 
tional Affairs,  speaking  on  the 
change  in  the  United  States'  posi- 
tion and  outlook  as  a  world 
power;  Brand  Blanshard,  pro- 
fessor emeritus  of  philosophy  at 
Yale  University,  with  a  speech  en- 
titled "The  Test  of  a  University"; 
and  chemical  engineer  Sakae  Yagi 
from  the  University  of  Tokyo, 


214 


Semicentennial 


150-155.  Scenes  ftum  the  semicentennial  celebrations  and  the  installation  of  President  Pitzer. 


discussing  Japanese  problems  in 
engineering  education.  Bertrand 
H.  Bronson,  professor  of  English 
literature  at  the  University  of 
California,  Berkeley,  spoke  on 
English  and  American  folk  songs, 
and  Sir  George  P.  Thomson,  a 
physicist  from  Cambridge  Uni- 
versity, traced  the  consequences 
of  the  last  fifty  years  in  physics. 
Architect  John  1.  Reid  discussed 


design;  Vladimir  Prelog  from  the 
Swiss  Federal  Institute  of  Tech- 
nology spoke  on  steric  strain  in 
organic  chemistry;  Allan  Nevins, 
a  historian  from  the  Huntington 
Library,  lectured  on  the  relations 
between  private  and  public  uni- 
versities; and  Albert  Szent- 
Gyorgyi,  director  of  research  at 
the  Institute  of  Muscle  Research 
at  the  Marine  Biological  Labora- 


tory in  Woods  Hole,  Massachu- 
setts, surveyed  the  horizons  of 
life  sciences.  Louis  Landre  from 
the  University  of  Paris  explored 
the  cultural  history  of  western 
Europe;  Fritz  Stiissi,  a  colleague 
of  Prelog's  at  the  Swiss  Federal 
Institute  of  Technology,  talked 
about  structural  engineering; 
Princeton  economist  Jacob  Viner 
looked  at  the  United  States  as 


Semicentennial 


215 


a  welfare  state;  and  Henri  M. 
Peyre,  professor  of  French  litera- 
ture from  Yale  University,  dis- 
cussed a  Frenchman's  view  of 
American  education.  Claude  E. 
Shannon,  a  mathematician  from 
the  Massachusetts  Institute  of 
Technology,  looked  into  the  fu- 
ture of  computers;  another  math- 
ematician, Jean  Leray  from  the 
College  de  France,  dealt  with  a 


problem  discussed  in  one  of  the 
19 1 2  lectures  of  Emile  Borel;  and 
anthropologist  Margaret  Mead 
talked  of  human  capacity  and 
potential. 

Two  Rice  alumni  were  also 
honored:  physicist  William  G. 
Pollard,  M.A.  '34,  Ph.D.  '35,  exec- 
utive director  of  the  Oak  Ridge 
Institute  of  Nuclear  Studies,  and 
William  Maurice  Ewing,  B.A.  '26, 


M.A.  '27,  Ph.D.  '31,  director  of 
the  Lamont  Geological  Obser- 
vatory at  Columbia  University. 
Pollard  addressed  the  alumni 
association  dinner;  honoree 
Keith  Glennan,  president  of  the 
Case  Institute  of  Technology, 
spoke  at  President  Pitzer's  inau- 
gural ceremonies;  and  nuclear 
chemist  Glenn  T.  Seaborg,  chair- 
man of  the  United  States  Atomic 
Energy  Commission,  spoke  at  the 
Rice  Associates'  dinner. 

As  had  the  first  festival,  the 
semicentennial  gathering  defined 
objectives  for  Rice  University. 
The  opening  celebration  in  19 12 
had  outlined  aspirations  and  fu- 
ture plans  and  was  designed  to 
chart  a  distinguished  course  for 
the  new  Institute;  the  later  fes- 
tival looked  to  the  past  as  well  as 
to  the  future.  The  Semicenten- 
nial Committee  expressed  its 
purposes  as  follows: 

To  commemoiate  the  first  fifty 
years  of  Rice  University:  and  to 
signalize  the  fulfillment  of  the 
dreams  of  William  Marsh  Rice, 
the  founder — in  which  dreams 
there  was  envisaged  the  creation 
and  development  in  Houston  of 
an  outstanding  American  in- 
stitution for  the  advancement  of 
letters,  science  and  art;  and,  fur- 
ther, to  re-create  the  interna- 
tional academic  enthusiasm 
engendered  by  the  significant 
ceremonies  held  at  the  opening 
of  the  University  in  the  Fall  of 
igi2. 

To  present  to  the  world  at  large, 
as  well  as  to  scholars  of  every 
nation,  plans  and  projects  whose 
fruition,  during  the  next  half- 
century,  will  not  only  make  se- 
cure the  place  of  Rice  University 


2l6 


Semicentennial 


in  the  forefront  of  the  worhl's 
distinguished  institutions  of 
higher  education,  but  also 
further  increase  the  Univer- 
sity's contributions  to  public 
enrichment  through  private 
endowment. 

To  inspire  among  the  friends  of 
Rice,  as  well  as  in  its  Trustees, 
administration,  faculty,  students 
and  alumni,  a  renewed  aware- 
ness of  the  importance  of  both 
the  research  for  truth  and  the 
dissemination  of  knowledge  as 
exemplified  by  the  record  of  the 
University  during  its  first  so 
years — and,  further,  to  make 
plain  to  all  citizens  the  rich  op- 
portunities which  in  the  next 
half-century  will  present  them- 
selves for  contributing  to  the 
progress  and  welfare  of  mankind 
through  supporting  an  institu- 
tion pledged  to  the  quest  for  ex- 
cellence in  all  its  activities.' 

These  ceremonies,  while  filled 
with  activities,  did  not  demand 
the  same  stamina  of  the  dele- 
gates and  representatives  as  the 
first  ones  did.  On  Wednesday,  Oc- 
tober ID,  after  lunch  in  the  vari- 
ous college  commons  (honorees 
and  delegates  ate  in  a  different 
college  each  of  the  three  days), 
everyone  gathered  on  the  east 
side  of  Lovett  Hall  for  the  inau- 
gural ceremony,  which  had  been 
postponed  for  a  year  to  coincide 
with  the  semicentennial.  A  pro- 
cession made  up  of  the  senior 
class  of  1963,  the  delegates,  the 
Rice  faculty,  the  Board  of  Trust- 
ees, and  special  honorees  began 
the  ceremonies. 

The  seniors  entered  first, 
dressed  in  black  robes,  and  were 


seated  behind  the  rows  of  dele- 
gates. The  delegates,  in  contrast, 
wore  the  hues  of  their  alma  ma- 
ters— crimson,  blue,  gold — all 
the  medieval  colors  from  Old 
World  and  New  World  institu- 
tions. In  place  of  mortarboards, 
many  wore  oddly  shaped  cha- 
peaux — tams,  pillboxes,  some- 
thing that  looked  like  a  French 
gendarme's  cap.  Surrounded  by 
the  flags,  the  solemn  proces- 
sional music,  and  the  partici- 
pants' regalia,  one  could  easily 
imagine  that  he  or  she  had  been 
transported  to  a  distant  time  and 
could  savor  one  of  the  truly 
splendid  ceremonial  occasions 
that  universities  still  celebrate. 

After  the  crowd  had  sung  the 
"Star  Spangled  Banner"  and  had 
heard  the  invocation  and  greet- 
ings from  the  students,  the 
alumni,  and  the  faculty.  Dr. 
Houston  presented  the  speaker, 
Keith  Glennan,  who  delivered 
an  address  entitled  "The  Univer- 
sity in  a  World  of  Accelerating 
Change."  The  Rice  University 
Chorus  sang  a  song,  and  then  Dr. 
Houston  presented  Dr.  Pitzer 
to  board  chairman  George  R. 
Brown,  who  formally  installed 
Kenneth  Sanborn  Pitzer  as  Rice's 
third  president.  Following  the  in- 
auguration were  a  reception  at 
4:30  P.M.  in  the  Rice  Memorial 
Student  Center  and  a  dinner  for 
1,220  at  7:30  that  evening  in 
the  Crystal  Ballroom  of  the  Rice 
Hotel. 

Only  two  things  went  wrong.  It 
was  extremely  hot  for  October:  at 
noon  on  the  day  of  the  inaugura- 
tion the  temperature  stood  at 
ninety-five  degrees.  To  relieve 
the  discomfort  of  the  formally 


robed  participants,  the  next 
morning's  speech  by  Arnold 
Toynbee  and  the  presentation  of 
medals  to  the  honorees  were 
moved  downtown  to  the  air- 
conditioned  Music  Hall,  instead 
of  being  held  on  the  Lovett  Hall 
lawn  as  planned.  The  lectures 
that  followed  on  campus  were  all 
in  air-conditioned  buildings.  The 
second  problem  concerned  the 
new  president's  voice.  A  viral  in- 
fection attacked  his  throat  and 
left  him  with  almost  no  voice, 
but  he  still  managed  to  be  heard 
and  was  fully  recovered  in  a  few 
days. 

Lectures  morning  and  after- 
noon, lunch  in  the  colleges' 
commons,  and  dinners  at  night 
completed  the  three  days  of  fes- 
tivity. The  Rice  Hotel  was  the 
scene  of  all  the  dinners:  the  in- 
augural banquet,  the  Rice  Asso- 
ciates' dinner  for  the  visiting 
scholars,  and  the  homecoming 
dinner  of  the  alumni  association. 

On  Saturday  the  alumni  laid 
their  yearly  wreath  at  William 
Marsh  Rice's  monument.  Follow- 
ing a  practice  that  President 
Houston  had  begun  at  his  inaugu- 
ration, Pitzer  had  placed  a  second 
wreath  on  the  steps  of  the  monu- 
ment before  joining  the  pro- 
cession to  his  inauguration  the 
day  before.  At  10:30  Saturday 
morning  the  new  president  pre- 
sided at  the  dedication  of  Rayzor 
Hall.  The  alumni  attended  a 
brunch  and  later  a  showing  of  the 
alumni  semicentennial  film 
Golden  Years,  the  work  of  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Shad  Graham  (Ruth 
McLain  '28I  and  Grace  Leake 
Watts  '22.  Festivities  ended  that 
night  at  the  football  game,  which 


Semicentennial 


217 


the  Owls  lost  to  the  University  of 
Oregon,  31-12. 

The  semicentennial  celebra- 
tion contmued  throughout  the 
year,  as  departments  and  colleges 
held  their  own  festivals  with  ad- 
ditional distinguished  partici- 
pants. The  history  department 
discussed  theory  in  American 
politics,  the  idea  of  the  South, 
and  perspectives  in  medieval 
history.  Physics  looked  at  fast 
neutron  physics;  the  geology  de- 
partment held  symposia  on  natu- 
ral radiation  in  the  environment 
and  on  the  earth  sciences;  and 
psychology  contrasted  behavior- 
ism and  phenomenology.  Biology 
held  a  symposium  on  delayed  im- 
plantation and  anthropology 
studied  prehistoric  people  in  the 
New  World,  while  economics  dis- 
cussed the  nation's  objectives  in 
that  field.  The  English  depart- 
ment organized  two  symposia, 
one  with  essays  on  Restoration 
and  eighteenth-century  literature 
in  honor  of  Alan  McKillop,  and 
the  other  with  critical  and  histor- 
ical essays.  The  architects  looked 
at  the  people's  architects,  and 
Jones  College  held  its  own  gath- 
ering focused  on  the  role  of  the 
educated  woman.' 

One  regret  might  have  sad- 
dened participants  in  the  celebra- 
tion: Edgar  Odell  Lovett  did  not 
live  to  see  Rice's  fiftieth  year. 
More  than  anyone  else,  except 
the  founder,  he  was  responsible 
for  the  idea  of  Rice,  what  the  uni- 
versity stood  for,  what  it  hoped  to 
be.  Lovett  had  been  with  Rice 
since  its  inception.  He  had  seen 
his  dreams  for  a  university  inter- 
rupted in  the  hard  economic 
times  of  the  1920s  and  the  1930s, 


and  he  had  seen  them  revive  in 
the  1940s.  His  Institute  was  a 
small  place,  with  an  excellent 
reputation  for  scholarly  stan- 
dards, for  its  graduates,  and  for 
some  of  its  faculty  members.  At 
first  its  reputation  was  concen- 
trated in  Texas  and  the  South.  At 
the  same  time,  the  Institute  had 
friends  at  some  of  the  most  pres- 
tigious universities  both  in  the 
United  States  and  abroad,  mainly 
because  of  Lovett's  wide  acquain- 
tance, his  continuing  travels,  the 
faculty  he  had  attracted,  and  the 
accomplishments  of  Rice  gradu- 
ates. The  academic  world  was 
much  smaller  in  those  days. 
Transportation  was  slow,  Rice 
was  far  from  the  centers  of  learn- 
ing on  the  east  and  west  coasts, 
and  scholars  in  the  East  had  diffi- 
culty thinking  that  distinguished 
universities  could  be  found  west 
of  the  Appalachians  or  south  of 
the  Ohio  River.  Many  people,  in- 
cluding some  applicants  for  fac- 
ulty positions,  hardly  knew 
where  Houston  was.  Without 
money  for  expansion,  the  Insti- 
tute could  do  little  but  try  to 
maintain  its  position. 

As  with  most  universities,  the 
progress  of  Rice  has  been  tied  to 
its  finances.  The  Baker  board 
members  are  much  to  be  praised 
for  establishing  the  university  as 
they  did.  Their  reluctance  to 
raise  additional  funds  in  the 
1920s  may  have  stemmed  from 
provisions  in  the  charter  placing 
full  responsibility  for  the  Insti- 
tute in  their  hands  and  forbidding 
them  to  go  into  debt,  and  from 
the  fear  that  donations  would 
often  have  unwarranted  strings 
attached.  The  proscription 


against  debt  made  the  cautious 
businessmen  only  more  conser- 
vative in  their  financial  dealings. 
To  such  men  the  oil  business  in 
the  1920s  and  1930s  looked  like 
dangerous  speculation,  and  they 
were  hampered  by  Texas  law, 
which  apparently  prohibited 
trustees  from  investing  in  equi- 
ties. Furthermore,  at  that  time 
Texas  was  a  place  for  self-made 
men,  without  the  tradition  of 
community  giving  and  with  an 
aversion  toward  fund  raising.  Al- 
though Rice  did  not  grow  as  it 
might  have  had  more  funds  been 
available,  the  Institute  survived 
the  Great  Depression  while 
many  other  schools  did  not.  In 
this  case  the  board's  conservative 
fiscal  management  proved  to  be 
the  right  course  to  follow. 

Through  it  all.  President  Edgar 
Odell  Lovett  pressed  on.  He  was 
able  to  attract  and  hold  such  pro- 
fessors of  sterling  repute  as 
McKillop,  Lear,  Hartsook,  Wil- 
son, Tsanoff,  and  Weiser.  Of 
course,  he  had  help.  It  is  impossi- 
ble to  imagine  Rice  without  Mc- 
Cann,  McCants,  and  Watkin,  and 
the  contributions  of  these  men 
are  legion.  When  Lovett  relin- 
quished his  beloved  Institute  to  a 
new  president  and  a  new  board  in 
1946,  he  could  justly  be  proud.  Its 
reputation  for  excellence  was 
intact,  its  potential  sound.  The 
Institute  had  produced,  and  con- 
tinues to  produce,  eminent  grad- 
uates, including  prominent 
scientists,  literary  figures,  busi- 
nesspeople,  teaching  scholars, 
and  public  servants  at  the  state 
and  national  levels. 

The  history  of  the  Rice  Insti- 
tute has  also  been  closely  related 


2l8 


Semicentennial 


to  the  city  of  Houston.  When 
the  city  began  to  grow  in  size, 
wealth,  importance,  and  reputa- 
tion, so  did  Rice.  After  World  War 
II  many  people  learned  more 
about  both  the  city  and  the  Insti- 
tute. After  the  war,  thanks  to  the 
Board  of  Governors,  their  invest- 
ments and  contributions,  and 
the  new  president,  William  Ver- 
million Houston,  Rice  was  at  last 
able  to  begin  the  expansion  that 
President  Lovett  had  wanted  so 
much  in  1920.  Emphasis  was  still 
on  the  sciences,  but  the  human- 
ities had  begun  to  grow  with  the 
strong  encouragement  of  Presi- 
dent Houston  and  the  endorse- 
ment of  the  board.  With  its 
dominant  scientific  and  engineer- 
ing reputation,  however,  the  In- 
stitute still  had  trouble  convinc- 
ing the  academic  and  outside 
worlds  that  it  was  not  the  "Rice 
Institute  of  Technology."  Chang- 


ing Its  name  to  Rice  University 
in  i960  helped  to  alter  the  mis- 
conception. But  it  was  not  until 
the  humanities  had  strong  and 
well-known  undergraduate  pro- 
grams to  match  those  in  science, 
and  the  faculty  had  exceptional 
teachers  at  all  levels,  that  Rice 
was  to  become  a  university  in  the 
complete  sense. 

Kenneth  Sanborn  Pitzer  hoped 
to  complete  the  task  set  by  his 
predecessors,  and  in  1963  the 
world  was  full  of  promise.  Some 
students  were  disgruntled,  but 
they  were  constructively  point- 
ing out  important  concerns  and 
weaknesses  that  they  felt  needed 
consideration.  Although  several 
of  the  semicentennial  speakers 
discussed  the  problems  inherent 
in  the  vast  enlargement  of  scien- 
tific and  technological  knowl- 
edge and  wondered  about  human 
ability  to  to  cope  with  the  new 


realities,  the  academic  festival 
was  invigorating  and  exciting. 
The  university  was  expanding  at 
a  rapid  pace,  there  were  plans  for 
numerous  improvements,  money 
was  coming  in  from  many  grants 
and  gifts,  and  the  first  fund- 
raising  drive  in  Rice  history  was 
about  to  start.  Everyone  could 
look  forward  with  anticipation 
and  enthusiasm  to  the  next  half 
century. 


NOTES 


Chapter  i    /*\^.oit^M^ 

1.  One  hundred  fifty-two  organiza- 
tions sent  delegates  to  tfie  opening. 
The  Book  of  the  Opening  of  the  Rice 
Institute,  i;  J.  T.  McCants,  "Some  In- 
formation Concerning  the  Rice  Insti- 
tute," Woodson  Research  Center.  The 
center  will  be  cited  hereafter  as 
WRC.  The  information  on  the  open- 
ing ceremonies  has  come  from  The 
Book  of  the  Opening  and  the  Mc- 
Cants manuscript  unless  otherwise 
noted. 

2.  The  city  directory  estimate  of 
Houston's  population  in  1912  was 
109,594,  based  on  a  "name  count"  of 
60,41 1  individuals  and  the  number 
reported  for  their  families. 

3.  Houston  Post.  October  12,  1912. 

4.  Julian  Huxley,  "Texas  and  Aca- 
deme," p.  54;  BooA'  of  the  Opening, 
1:41-44;  Julian  Huxley,  Memories. 
pp.  94-95;  photographic  file,  WRC. 

5.  McCants,  "Rice  Institute,"  p.  7S; 
Harry  Marshall  Bulbrook,  "Odyssey 
of  a  Freshman — 1912,"  manuscript 
copy  in  possession  of  the  Rice  His- 
torical Commission. 

6.  Huxley,  Memories,  p.  95. 

7.  Houston  Post.  October  14,  1912. 

8.  Bulbrook,  "Odyssey." 

9.  Houston  Post,  October  10,  11, 
12,  13,  1912;  photographic  file,  WRC. 

10.  It  IS  interesting  to  note  that 
few  provisions  of  any  kind  were 
made  for  the  students,  and  there  was 
no  one  to  represent  them  at  the  con- 
vocation. Hattie  Lei  Red  '16  heard 
some  of  the  lectures  from  the  bal- 


cony over  the  Faculty  Chamber  and 
remembers  being  much  impressed  by 
the  people  who  were  there.  Hattie 
Lei  Red,  June  28,  1977. 

Chapter!    Se,p/nni^ 

1.  For  a  complete  biography  of  the 
founder,  see  Andrew  Forest  Muir, 
William  Marsh  Rice  and  His 
Institute. 

2.  Muir,  William  Marsh  Rice.  pp. 
104-9. 

3.  Ibid.,  p.  109;  J-  T.  McCants, 
"Some  Information  Concerning  the 
Rice  Institute,"  p.  13. 

4.  James  A.  Baker,  Jr.,  "Reminis- 
cences of  the  Founder,"  pp.  127-44; 
McCants,  "Rice  Institute,"  p.  81. 

5.  McCants,  "Rice  Institute,"  pp. 
82-83. 

6.  William  M.  Rice,  Jr.,  had  the 
idea  of  electing  his  brother  Joseph  to 
the  board  in  1901;  but  Raphael  said 
that  the  board  could  not  do  that, 
since  Joseph  did  not  live  in  Houston 
and  the  charter  said  that  the  trustees 
must  reside  in  the  city.  The  excep- 
tion had  been  made  in  the  case  of  the 
original  trustees  because  that  was 
what  the  founder  had  wanted.  James 
Baker  concurred  with  Raphael,  so  the 
position  remained  open.  William  M. 
Rice,  Jr.,  to  E.  Raphael,  April  13, 
1901,  Letters  addressed  to  Secretary 
E.  Raphael,  1891-1907,  WRC  (cited 
hereafter  as  Raphael  Letters); 
Raphael  to  Rice,  Jr.,  April  17,  1901, 
Raphael  Letters;  James  A.  Baker,  Jr., 


to  Raphael,  April  27,  1901,  Raphael 
Letters;  Ellis  A.  David  and  Edwin  H. 
Grobe,  comps.  and  eds.,  New  Ency- 
clopedia of  Texas. 

7.  Charter  of  the  William  M.  Rice 
Institute  for  the  Advancement  of  Lit- 
erature, Science  and  Art,  WRC. 

8.  McCants,  "Rice  Institute,"  pp. 
13,  14;  Minutes  of  the  Board  of 
Trustees,  William  M.  Rice  Institute, 
Treasurer's  Office  (cited  hereafter  as 
Board  Minutes),  April  27,  1910.  Prior 
to  the  early  1940s,  there  were  no 
Texas  statutes  governing  invest- 
ments by  trustees.  However,  there 
were  laws  of  "guardianship,"  which 
prohibited  guardians  from  investing 
in  stocks.  Trustees  generally  as- 
sumed that  they  were  governed  by 
these  statutes,  and  the  Rice  board 
was  no  exception;  therefore,  they 
limited  their  investments  of  the  Rice 
endowment  to  bonds,  liens,  etc.  In 
the  early  1940s,  some  trustees  went 
to  court  and  received  permission  to 
invest  in  equities.  Later  the  Texas 
Trust  Act  was  passed,  further  freeing 
trustees  to  invest  their  trusts  in  the 
stock  market.  H.  Malcolm  Lovett, 
oral  communication,  January  15, 
1982. 

9.  The  charter  stated  that  the  Insti- 
tute would  be  open  to  white  inhabi- 
tants; the  indenture  within  the 
charter  said  "open  to  all." 

10.  Charter  of  the  Institute. 

11.  Muir,  William  Marsh  Rice.  pp. 

53-55- 

12.  Raphael  and  McAshan  to  "Dear 
Sir"  [recipient  unknown],  January  10, 


I  ^'•^' 


Notes 


iyo7,  Raphael  Letters,  bylaws  in 
Board  Minutes,  August  4,  lyos. 

IV  Raphael  to  the  Board  of  Trust- 
ees, December  28,  1906,  in  Board 
Minutes,  January  8,  1907;  H.  H.  Har- 
rington to  Raphael,  July  2^  1906, 
Raphael  Letters. 

14.  J.  N.  Anderson  to  Baker  & 
Botts,  February  26,  1906,  Raphael 
Letters;  D.  F.  Houston  to  Raphael, 
January  25,  1906,  Raphael  Letters;  A. 
R.  Hill  to  Rice  Institute,  October  18, 
1905,  Raphael  Letters;  Board  Min- 
utes, January  8,  1907. 

15.  Raphael  and  McAshan  to  "Dear 
Sir,"  January  10,  1907,  Raphael 
Letters. 

16.  D.  F.  Houston  to  Raphael,  Janu- 
ary II,  1907;  J.  E.  Pursons  to  Rice 
Institute,  January  is,  1907,  both  in 
Raphael  Letters. 

17.  Collection  Index,  No.  2, 
Raphael  Letters;  Board  Minutes,  Feb- 
ruary 20,  1907. 

18.  Raphael  and  McAshan  to  Board 
of  Trustees,  February  18,  1907, 
Raphael  Letters;  Board  Minutes,  Feb- 
ruary 20,  1907. 

19.  D.  F.  Houston  to  Raphael,  lanu- 
ary  11,  1907,  Raphael  Letters;  Board 
Minutes,  February  20,  1907- 

20.  A.  R.  Hill  to  Raphael,  March  ^ 
1907,  Raphael  Letters;  H.  Mc- 
Clanahan  to  Raphael,  March  3 

1 1 907 'I,  Raphael  Letters;  Board  Min- 
utes, February  29,  1907,  March  20, 
1907. 

21.  Statement  by  Edgar  Odell  Lov- 
ett,  July  19,  1944,  in  Presidents'  Pa- 
pers, Edgar  Odell  Lovett,  Office 
Records,  WRC. 

22.  Ibid. 

23.  Ibid.;  Lovett  to  Rice,  Jr.,  De- 
cember 18,  1907,  copy  in  possession 
of  H.  Malcolm  Lovett. 

24.  Statement  by  Edgar  Odell  Lov- 
ett, July  19,  1944,  in  Presidents'  Pa- 
pers, Lovett,  Office  Records. 

25.  Hill  to  Raphael,  March  2S, 
1907,  April  4,  1907,  Raphael  Letters. 


Hill  said  that  there  were  other  fields 
that  on  the  whole  offered  greater 
attractions. 

26.  Collection  Index,  No.  2, 
Raphael  Letters;  Raphael  and 
McAshan  to  the  president  and  the 
Board  of  Trustees,  February  18,  1907, 
Raphael  Letters;  Houston  Post.  April 
I S,  1907. 

27.  Board  Minutes,  November  20, 
1907. 

28.  Board  Minutes,  December  18, 
1907. 

29.  Baker  to  Lovett,  December  19, 
1907,  copy  in  possession  of  H.  Mal- 
colm Lovett.  The  same  letter  is  also 
in  Edgar  Odell  Lovett,  Personal  Pa- 
pers, Correspondence,  Lovett-Trust- 
ees,  WRC,  and  in  Raphael  Letters. 

30.  Raphael  to  Lovett,  December 
21,  1907,  copy  in  possession  of 

H.  Malcolm  Lovett. 

31.  Ibid. 

32.  Board  Minutes,  December  28, 
1907;  Raphael  to  Lovett,  December 
29,  1907,  Raphael  Letters. 

33.  Lovett  to  Raphael,  January  2, 
1907  1 1 908],  Lovett,  Personal  Papers, 
Wilson  Correspondence;  Board  Min- 
utes, January  22,  1908. 

34.  William  V.  Houston,  "Edgar 
Odell  Lovett,"  pp.  137-40;  Lovett  to 
J.  F.  Downey,  May  12,  1897;  J.  M. 
Page  to  Downey,  May  12,  1897;  O. 
Stone  to  Leavenworth,  April  3,  1897, 
April  IS,  1897;  Alexander  Ziwet  to 
Leavenworth,  May  5,  1897,  all  in 
Presidents'  Papers,  Lovett,  Mis- 
cellaneous Correspondence. 

35.  W.  Wilson  to  Lovett,  Lovett, 
Personal  Papers,  Wilson  Correspon- 
dence; Andrew  Forest  Muir,  "Rice's 
Future  Mapped  in  Early  1900s";  Lov- 
ett to  Wilson,  January  3,  1908,  copy 
in  possession  of  H.  Malcolm  Lovett. 

36.  Board  Minutes,  March  1 1, 
1908;  "Recommendations,"  n.d., 
copy  in  possession  of  H.  Malcolm 
Lovett. 

37.  Clippings,  n.d.,  with  Weems  to 


Lt)vett,  n.d.  1 1 908 -I,  Lovett,  Personal 
Papers,  Correspondence,  Lovett- 
Trustees. 

38.  Board  Minutes,  May  6,  1908, 
June  10,  1908;  Lovett's  Travel  Jour- 
nal, Presidents'  Papers,  Lovett. 

39.  Lovett's  Travel  Journal,  Presi- 
dents' Papers,  Lovett;  Lovett  to 
Raphael,  August  12,  1908,  November 
27,  1907,  January  31,  1909,  March 
14,  1909,  published  in  Dallas  News, 
Lovett,  Personal  Papers,  Unarrangcd; 
Lovett  to  Raphael,  September  s, 
1908,  October  is,  1908,  November 
17,  1908,  December  21,  1908,  March 
14,  1909,  March  25,  1909,  Lovett, 
Personal  Papers,  Unarranged,  and 
Correspondence,  Lovett-Trustees; 
Board  Minutes,  April  28,  1909. 

40.  Lovett  to  Raphael,  August  12, 

1908,  September  s,  1908,  March  14, 

1909,  March  2S,  1909,  Lovett,  Per- 
sonal Papers,  Correspondence,  Lov- 
ett-Trustees. 

41.  Edgar  Odell  Lovett,  "Historical 
Sketch  of  Rice  Institute,  A  Gift  to 
Texas  Youth";  idem,  "Early  Deci- 
sions in  the  Development  of  the  Rice 
Institute,"  n.d.,  both  in  Presidents' 
Papers,  Lovett,  Office  Records. 

42.  University  and  college  histories 
and  studies  of  higher  education  that  I 
consulted  included:  John  S.  Bru- 
bacher  and  Willis  Rudy,  Higher  Edu- 
cation m  Transition:  Nicholas 
Murray  Butler,  Across  the  Busy 
Years:  Horace  Coon,  Columbia:  C. 
H.  Cramer,  Case  Western  Reserve: 
Ernest  Earnest,  Academic  Pro- 
cession: Orrin  L.  Elliott,  Stanford 
University:  Hugh  Hawkins,  Pioneer; 
Brooks  M.  Kclley  Yale:  Samuel  Eliot 
Morison,  The  Development  of  Har- 
vard University  Since  the  Inaugura- 
tion of  President  Eliot:  George 
Wilson  Pierson,  Yale  College:  An  Ed- 
ucational History:  idem,  Yale:  The 
University  College:  Frederick 
Rudolph,  The  American  College  and 
University:  George  P.  Schmidt,  T^Jt' 


Notes 


Liberal  Arts  College:  Laurence  R. 
Veysey,  The  Emergence  of  the  Ameri- 
can University;  and  Thomas  Jeffer- 
son Wertenbaker,  Princeton. 

43.  Lovett,  "Historical  Sketch"; 
idem,  "Early  Decisions." 

44.  Board  Minutes,  May  12,  1909, 
July  15,  1909,  August  4,  1909;  Lovett, 
"Historical  Sketch." 

45.  Board  Minutes,  July  15,  1909. 

46.  Board  Minutes,  April  10,  1907, 
April  24,  1907,  June  24,  1908,  April 
7,  1909;  McCants,  "Rice  Institute," 
pp.  16-24. 

47.  McCants,  "Rice  Institute,"  pp. 
23-26. 

48.  Ralph  Adams  Cram,  My  Life  in 
Architecture,  pp.  124-28;  Thresher, 
February  20,  1963. 

49.  Cram  to  Lovett,  August  30, 
1909,  in  Presidents'  Papers,  Lovett, 
Lovett-Watkin  Correspondence. 

50.  Lovett  to  Charles  W.  Eliot, 
September  27,  19 10,  Presidents' 
Papers,  Lovett,  Lovett-Watkin 
Correspondence. 

51.  Board  Minutes,  November  30, 

1909,  December  i,  1909;  Lovett  to 
Cram,  Goodhue  and  Ferguson 
(CG&.F),  December  16,  1909,  Presi- 
dents' Papers,  Lovett,  Lovett-Watkin 
Correspondence. 

52.  Lovett  to  CG&F,  January  13, 
1910;  CG&F  to  Lovett,  January  14, 

1910,  both  in  Presidents'  Papers,  Lov- 
ett, Lovett-Watkin  Correspondence. 

53.  Lovett  to  CG&lF,  January  13, 
1 9 10,  February  4,  19 10,  March  11, 
191O;  CG&F  to  Lovett,  January  14, 
19 10,  January  28,  19 10,  March  17, 
1910,  all  in  Presidents'  Papers,  Lov- 
ett, Lovett-Watkin  Correspondence. 

54.  CG&F  to  Lovett,  January  18, 
1910,  January  19,  191O;  Lovett  to 
CG&F,  February  4,  19 10,  all  in  Presi- 
dents' Papers,  Lovett,  Lovett-Watkin 
Correspondence;  Lovett,  "Historical 
Sketch." 

5S-  Board  Minutes,  April  27,  19 10, 
June  27,  1910,  September  16,  1910; 


"The  Rice  Institute,  A  Memorandum 
of  Information  Prepared  for  the  Sen- 
ate and  National  Council  of  Phi  Beta 
Kappa"  (1921),  pp.  5,  6,  in  Presidents' 
Papers,  Lovett,  Department  Records. 

56.  Pamphlet  entitled  "The  Rice 
Institute";  William  Ward  Watkin, 
"Architectural  Development  of  the 
William  Marsh  Rice  Institute,"  pp. 
1 10-  12. 

57.  Pamphlet  entitled  "The  Rice 
Institute";  Watkin,  "Architectural 
Development,"  pp.  no- 12.  Cram, 
My  Life,  pp.  126-27;  Julian  Huxley, 
"Texas  and  Academe,"  pp.  61-62. 

58.  Thresher  November  12,  1937; 
Hubert  E.  Bray,  June  18,  1976,  Sep- 
tember 30,  1976. 

59.  Muir,  "Rice's  Future." 

60.  The  Book  of  the  Opening  of  the 
Rice  Institute.  1:175-76;  la  Rose  to 
Lovett,  Presidents'  Papers,  Lovett, 
Planning  of  the  Institute;  Lovett  to  la 
Rose,  December  14,  1910,  ibid.;  Lov- 
ett to  J.  T.  McCants,  December  14, 

1 9 10,  Lovett,  Personal  Papers,  Early, 
Math. 

61.  Lovett  to  McCants,  February  4, 
1912  ligii'l,  Lovett,  Personal  Papers, 
Early,  Math;  Lovett  to  Lombardi,  Feb- 
ruary 24,  191 1,  Presidents'  Papers, 
Lovett,  Opening  of  the  Institute,  Lov- 
ett Correspondence;  Board  Minutes, 
March  i,  191 1. 

62.  Loose  clippings  m  envelope, 
Lovett,  Personal  Papers,  Unarranged. 

63.  Board  Minutes,  May  31,  1912. 


Chapter  3  .^^^.^  f 

1.  Board  Minutes,  October  8,  1908. 

2.  H.  A.  Wilson  to  Lovett,  March 
22,  1912,  Presidents'  Papers,  Lovett, 
Miscellaneous  Correspondence. 

3.  P.  V.  Bevan  to  Lovett,  February 
26,  1912,  April  20,  1912,  Presidents' 
Papers,  Lovett,  Planning  of  the 
Institute. 

4.  Bevan  to  Lovett,  February  26, 


1912,  Presidents'  Papers,  Lovett, 
Planning  of  the  Institute;  Wilson  to 
Lovett,  March  22,  1912,  Presidents' 
Papers,  Lovett,  Planning  of  the  Insti- 
tute and  Miscellaneous  Correspon- 
dence; Board  Minutes,  May  31,  1912, 
June  5,  1 9 12,  June  12,  19 12,  July  11, 
19 1 3;  Samuel  Eliot  Morison,  The  De- 
velopment of  Harvard  University 
Since  the  Inauguration  of  President 
Eliot,  p.  Ixi;  H.  Malcolm  Lovett,  July 
27,  1981. 

5.  Wilson  to  Lovett,  March  22, 

19 12,  Presidents'  Papers,  Lovett,  Mis- 
cellaneous Correspondence;  G.  C. 
Evans  to  Lovett,  February  28,  1912, 
Presidents'  Papers,  Lovett,  Planning 
of  the  Institute. 

6.  Evans  to  Lovett,  February  17, 
1912,  March  3,  1912;  Maxime  Bocher 
to  Lovett,  March  4,  19 12;  William  F. 
Osgood  to  Lovett,  March  4,  19 14,  all 
m  Presidents'  Papers,  Lovett,  Plan- 
ning of  the  Institute. 

7.  Board  Minutes,  May  2,  1912. 

8.  A.  S.  Cleveland  to  Lovett,  Au- 
gust 16,  1941,  Presidents'  Papers, 
Lovett,  Office  Records,  Trustees; 
Lovett  to  Baker,  June  13,  1935,  Presi- 
dents' Papers,  Lovett,  Office  Records, 
Trustees;  Thresher  November  12, 
1937;  Houston  Post,  September  27, 
19 12;  Houston  Chronicle,  September 
26,  1912. 

9.  The  Rice  Institute  Preliminary 
Announcements,  1915.  The  catalog 
for  the  university  has  varied  in  title 
and  publication  over  the  years.  From 
1912  to  1924,  It  was  called  the  Pre- 
liminary Announcements:  from 
1925  to  1950,  Announcements:  and 
from  then  on.  General  Announce- 
ments. From  1947  to  1954,  it  was 
published  as  part  of  the  Rice  Insti- 
tute Pamphlet.  Between  1950  and 
i960,  the  annual  catalog  alternated 
between  the  general  announcements 
issue  and  the  graduate  announce- 
ments issue.  In  the  notes  to  this 
book,  the  catalog  will  be  cited  here- 


Notes 


after  as  Announcements. 

10.  Sarah  Lane,  October  20,  197s- 

1 1.  I.  T.  McCants,  "Some  Informa- 
tion Concerning  tlic  Rice  Institute," 
pp.  88-9O;  Harry  Bulbrook,  October 
28,  1977;  Hattie  Lei  Red,  lune  28, 
1977;  Helen  Batjer,  August  10,  1976; 
J.  W.  Wilkinson  to  Board  of  Trustees, 
January  4,  19 13,  Presidents'  Papers, 
Lovett,  Office  Records. 

12.  Hattie  Lei  Red,  lanuary  23, 
1976;  Campanile.  1916. 

IV  Draft  article,  "Coeducation  in 
the  Colleges,"  dated  September  17, 
1929,  for  Gargoyle,  in  Lovett,  Per- 
sonal Papers,  Speeches.  The  copy  has 
two  endings.  In  the  first  Lovett  said 
he  would  endow  a  women's  college  if 
he  were  in  a  position  to  endow  an 
undergraduate  college.  The  second 
said  he  would  endow  a  college  re- 
stricted to  men  or  women  for  a  hun- 
dred ycars;  and  if  he  endowed  a 
women's  college,  he  would  make  it 
subject  to  such  academic  organiza- 
tion as  Harvard  or  Oxford. 

14.  Hattie  Lei  Red,  June  28,  1977- 

15.  Houston  Chronicle,  |uly  24, 
191 5;  William  H.  Wilson  to  Lovett, 
July  31,  191  s,  Lovett,  Personal  Pa- 
pers, 191 1  -1957;  Lovett  to  W.  H. 
Wilson,  August  31,  191  5,  Lovett,  Per- 
sonal Papers,  191 1-1957.  The 
Chronicle  article  spoke  in  the  name 
of  the  founder,  William  Marsh  Rice, 
and  claimed  to  know  what  he 
wanted  for  women;  it  was  not  what 
they  were  getting  at  the  Institute.  W. 
F.  Edwards  to  Baker,  April  5,  19 15, 
May  20,  191 5,  with  Baker  to  Lovett, 
May  21,  191  5,  Lovett,  Personal  Pa- 
pers, Unarranged. 

16.  Mrs.  Harold  Wilson,  "Rambling 
Reminiscences  of  Early  Days  at  Rice 
by  a  Septuagenarian,"  WRC;  Hattie 
Lei  Red,  January  23,  1976;  Board 
Minutes,  September  29,  191 5. 

17.  Harry  Bulbrook,  October  28, 
1977;  idem,  "Odyssey  of  a  Fresh- 
man— 1912." 

18.  Lovett  to  Board  of  Trustees, 


lanuary  30,  1918,  Dean  of  Students, 
Cameron  file,  WRC;  speech  at  stu- 
dent meeting,  September  28,  1920, 
Lovett,  Personal  Papers,  Speeches; 
Florence  McAllister  Jameson,  Febru- 
ary 3,  1978;  The  Book  of  the  Opening 
of  the  Rice  Institute,  1:164. 

ig.  Announcements,  1915; 
Thresher,  December  15,  191ft; 
Bulbrook,  "Odyssey." 

20.  Hattie  Lei  Red,  June  28,  1977. 

21.  Campanile.  19 16;  Thresher, 
December  15,  191 6. 

22.  Isaac  Sanders,  note  on  Rice 
University  Historical  Commission, 
vol.  I,  no.  I,  in  possession  of  the 
commission;  Henry  A.  Tillett,  De- 
cember 23,  1975;  Bulbrook,  "Odys- 
sey"; H.  Malcolm  Lovett,  May  19, 
1976. 

23.  After  participating  in  191 5,  the 
Institute  took  a  leave  of  absence  in 
1916  and  rejoined  the  conference  in 
December  1917. 

24.  Houston  Post,  October  10, 
1912;  Football  '77.-  Southwest  Con- 
ference Roster  and  Record  Book.  pp. 
.S,  64- 

25.  Thresher.  February  15,  191 7; 
Debbie  Davies,  "Rice  has  been  trad- 
ing knocks  with  the  distinguished 
Texas  A&M  University  for  63  years," 
pp.  10- 1 1;  Basketball  '78:  The  197S 
Southwest  Conference  Roster  and 
Record  Book,  pp.  24-29;  Southwest 
Conference  1978  Spring  Sports  Me- 
dia Guide,  pp.  24-36. 

26.  Wilson  to  Lovett,  February  28, 
191  3,  March  2,  191  3,  March  31, 
1913,  June  13,  1913,  Presidents' 
Papers,  Lovett,  Miscellaneous 
Correspondence. 

27.  Clipping  from  the  Daily 
Pnncetonian,  August  10,  191  3,  in 
Presidents'  Papers,  Lovett,  Office 
Records;  Lovett  to  John  R.  Effinger, 
April  24,  1920,  Presidents'  Papers, 
Lovett,  L^epartment  Records. 

28.  Board  Minutes,  July  11,  191  3; 
Wilson  to  Lovett,  March  2,  19 13, 
Presidents'  Papers,  Lovett,  Mis- 


cellaneous Correspondence,  "The 
Development  of  the  Rice  Institute," 
typescript,  in  Lovett  to  George  R. 
Brown,  July  20,  1944,  Presidents' 
Papers,  Lovett,  Office  Records, 
Trustees. 

29.  Ortrud  Much,  oral  communica- 
tion, March  24,  1982. 

30.  Weiser  wrote  in  August  asking 
for  a  job  and  was  hired  for  the  fall, 
but  it  unclear  how  many  hopeful  ap- 
plicants did  this  and  were  successful. 
Apparently  Lovett,  the  dean,  and 
various  department  chairmen  relied 
on  recommendations  from  friends 
and  well-known  men  in  the  various 
fields  to  fill  most  vacancies  in  the 
faculty  ranks.  Weiser  to  Lovett,  Au- 
gust II,  191 5,  Lovett,  Personal  Pa- 
pers, 191 1-  1957. 

31.  Andrew  Forest  Muir,  "Rice's 
Future  Mapped  in  Early  1900s." 

32.  Belle  Heaps,  February  17,  1978; 
Florence  McAllister  lameson,  Febru- 
ary 3,  1978;  Hattie  Lei  Red,  June  28, 
1978;  Huxley  and  Hughes  to  Lovett, 
August  13,  1914,  Presidents'  Papers, 
Lovett,  Miscellaneous  Correspon- 
dence; Huxley  to  Lovett,  November 
5,  19 14,  Lovett,  Personal  Papers; 
Julian  Huxley,  Memories,  pp.  99- 
100. 

33.  Board  Minutes,  January  10, 
1917;  Tony  Martino,  vertical  file, 
WRC;  Mrs.  Jess  Neely,  oral  commu- 
nication, October  10,  1977;  notes 
from  Eula  Goss  Wintermann,  July  24, 
1979- 

34.  Board  Minutes,  May  30,  1916, 
June  I,  1 9 10. 

35.  Address  by  Lovett  on  H.  A. 
Wilson,  June  2,  1950;  Wilson  to  Lov- 
ett, March  2,  191  3,  March  31,  191  3, 
all  in  Presidents'  Papers,  Lovett,  Mis- 
cellaneous Correspondence. 

36.  Faculty  Minutes,  June  5,  1914; 
Announcements.  1915,  pp.  21-22. 

37.  Faculty  Minutes,  June  5,  1914; 
Announcements.  191 5,  pp.  21-24. 

38.  Announcements.  191 5,  pp. 
53-54- 


Notes 


223 


39.  George  Wilson  Pierson,  Yale 
College:  An  Educational  History,  pp. 
202,  258-66,  317-18,  319-33, 
428- 31;  idem,  Yale:  The  University 
College,  pp.  198-205. 

40.  Announcements,  1917,  pp. 
33-34;  Huxley,  Memories,  p.  99. 

41.  Faculty  Minutes,  Early  Com- 
mittee Lists. 

42.  Faculty  Minutes,  fune  5,  1914; 
Blayney  to  Lovett,  lune  1914,  Presi- 
dents' Papers,  Lovett,  Miscellaneous 
Correspondence. 

43.  Bulbrook,  "Odyssey";  Hattie 
Lei  Red,  January  24,  1976;  Faculty 
Minutes,  January  7,  191 5;  Announce- 
ments, 1915,  p.  24- 

44.  Faculty  Minutes,  February  3, 
1916,  April  13,  1916,  April  27,  1916, 
March  i,  1917,  June  5,  1919- 

45.  Recommendations  from  Com- 
mittee on  Examinations  and  Stand- 
ing and  Committee  on  Schedule  and 
Courses  of  Study,  October  19 16,  in 
Presidents'  Papers,  Lovett,  Office 
Records;  Faculty  Minutes,  November 
23,  1916,  January  10,  1918,  February 
21,  1918;  Blayney  to  Lovett,  June 

1 9 14,  Presidents'  Papers,  Lovett,  Mis- 
cellaneous Correspondence. 

46.  Lovett  to  T.  J.  J.  See,  October 
17,  1911,  Presidents'  Papers,  Lovett, 
Opening  of  the  Institute. 

47.  Alice  Dean,  vertical  file,  WRC; 
Sarah  Lane,  October  20,  1975,  July  1, 
1977.  It  appears  that  m  191 5,  at  least, 
the  question  of  a  librarian  came  up. 
Evans  wrote  Lovett  that  perhaps  he, 
Evans,  should  ask  at  Columbia  and 
other  schools  for  "a  reliable  and  ca- 
pable man,  trained  in  the  history  of 
science,  who  would  be  willing  to  en- 
ter the  library  at  an  instructor's  sal- 
ary, with  the  hope  of  eventually 
becoming  the  librarian."  Lovett's  re- 
ply is  lost,  but  if  such  a  search  was 
begun.  It  never  produced  a  candidate. 
Evans  to  Lovett,  August  5,  1915, 
Presidents'  Papers,  Lovett,  Planning 
of  the  Institute. 

48.  Board  Minutes,  July  11,  191 3, 


November  18,  19 14,  November  17, 
191 5,  July  10,  1920;  Library  Appro- 
priations, 19 1 6- 19 1 7,  Faculty 
Minutes. 

49.  Sarah  Lane,  October  20,  1975, 
July  I,  1977. 

50.  Edgar  Odell  Lovett,  "The 
Meaning  of  the  New  Institution,"  51. 

51.  Rice  Institute  Pamphlet  5,  no. 
I  (January  1918),  3. 

52.  Lovett,  "Fiistorical  Sketch"; 
Announcements.  1918,  pp.  87-88. 

53.  Ibid. 

54.  Commencement,  vertical  file, 
WRC. 

55.  Faculty  Minutes,  February  18, 
1915,  March  30,  1916;  W  F.  Edwards 
to  Baker,  April  5,  19 15,  May  20, 
1915,  with  Baker  to  Lovett,  May  29, 
191 5,  Lovett,  Personal  Papers,  Unar- 
ranged.  Edwards  was  an  older  faculty 
member  and  had  been  president  of 
the  University  of  Washington.  Fie 
seems  to  have  thought  that  he  was  to 
establish  the  chemistry  department, 
but  other  sources  indicate  that  Lov- 
ett was  still  looking  for  a  chemistry 
professor.  Edwards  had  the  rank  of 
lecturer.  Edwards  wrote  some  bitter 
letters  to  James  A.  Baker,  Jr.,  but  he 
evidently  did  not  receive  satisfacion. 
The  quarrel  between  Lovett  and  Ed- 
wards seems  to  have  been  personal  as 
well  as  professional  and  ended  with 
Edwards  leaving  the  faculty  in  191 5. 
Whether  he  resigned  or  was  fired  is 
unclear,  but  he  considered  himself 
"dismissed."  Lf  he  had  wished  to  stay, 
however,  it  would  appear  that  he 
chose  a  difficult  way  to  do  so,  since 
in  his  last  letters  he  did  not  hesitate 
to  take  the  board  to  task  for  not  do- 
ing what  he  saw  as  their  duty;  to  get 
rid  of  Lovett. 

56.  Guerard  to  Lovett,  January  21, 
19 18,  Presidents'  Papers,  Lovett,  Of- 
fice Records,  Trustees. 

57.  H.  O.  Murfee  to  Lovett,  July  21, 
1909,  Presidents'  Papers,  Lovett, 
Planning  of  the  Institute;  A.  L. 
FLughes  to  Lovett,  July  23,  1916,  Lov- 


ett, Personal  Papers. 

58.  F.  Carrington  Weems  to  Lovett, 
January  7,  1926;  Lovett  to  Weems, 
January  26,  1926,  both  in  Lovett,  Per- 
sonal Papers. 


Chapter  4         '^  ^l-*-^- 

1.  Hughes  to  Lovett,  September  1, 
1 9 14,  Lovett,  Personal  Papers; 
Thresher.  March  11,  19 16,  October 

18,  1916,  December  15,  1916,  Febru- 
ary I,  1917. 

2.  There  was  the  proviso  that  the 
faculty  members  on  war  duty  be  in 
condition  physically  and  mentally  to 
perform  their  faculty  duties  in  order 
to  return  to  the  faculty.  Board  Min- 
utes, April  30,  1917,  July  II,  1917. 

3.  Andrew  Forest  Muir,  "Rice's  Fu- 
ture Mapped  in  Early  1900s";  H.  Mal- 
colm Lovett,  March  29,  1978. 

4.  Rice  Institute  Pamphlet  6,  sup- 
plement (1919).  The  entire  supple- 
ment is  devoted  to  those  who  served 
in  the  war. 

5.  |Lovett|  to  General  Scott,  April 

19,  191 7,  Presidents'  Papers, 
Lovett,  Office  Records,  World  War 

I,  Announcements.  1917,  PP-  56-57. 

6.  Thresher.  September  29,  1917- 

7.  Thresher.  October  27,  1917; 
Campanile.  1918;  H.  Malcolm  Lov- 
ett, March  29,  1978;  Sarah  Lane,  July 
I,  1977;  Florence  McAllister  Jame- 
son, February  3,  1978. 

8.  Sarah  Lane,  July  i,  1977;  Flor- 
ence McAllister  Jameson,  February  3, 
1978;  Hattie  Lei  Red,  January  23, 
1976,  June  28,  1977. 

9.  Thresher,  September  29,  1917. 

10.  Tape,  January  19,  191*^; 
Thresher,  December  14,  1917,  Febru- 
ary 2,  1 918. 

11.  Tape,  January  19,  1918. 

12.  Thresher,  December  14,  1917. 

13.  Thresher,  January  19,  19 18. 

14.  Tape,  January  19,  1918. 

15.  Thresher,  February  2,  1918. 

16.  Ibid. 


224 


Notes 


17.  Ibid.,  February  16,  lyiS. 

18.  Ibid.;  Helen  Batjer,  August  10, 
iy76. 

ly.  Rice  was  not  alone  in  suffering 
the  wrong  man  for  the  job.  At  Yale 
the  retired  army  captain  who  took 
over  the  ROTC  proved  likewise  un- 
able to  handle  his  assignment,  and 
school  morale  sagged.  George  Wilson 
Picrson,  Yale  College:  An  Educa- 
tional History,  pp.  444,  4S9-71. 

20.  Thresher.  February  2,  1918; 
|Lovett|  to  President  Maclaurin,  Au- 
gust 7,  19 1 8,  Presidents'  Papers,  Lov- 
ctt.  Office  Records,  World  War  I; 
ROTC  regulations,  ibid.;  Abstract  of 
General  Order  Number  49,  ibid.; 
Graustein  affidavit,  19 19,  Presidents' 
Papers,  Lovett,  Department  Records; 
Tape,  lanuary  19,  1918. 

22.  Thresher.  February  16,  1918. 

IT,.  Ibid.,  February  is,  191 7,  March 
I,  1917,  March  24,  1917,  February  2, 
1918,  April  20,  1918,  May  25,  1918. 

24.  Faculty  Minutes,  April  25, 
1918. 

25.  Student  Association  Constitu- 
tion, Thresher,  February  6,  1919,  May 
25,  1919;  File  with  constitutions  for 
the  Women's  Council  in  Dean  of  Stu- 
dents, Cameron. 

26.  "Three  Gifts  to  the  Rice  Insti- 
tute, announced  by  the  Trustees  at 
the  third  Commencement  Convoca- 
tion," Rice  Institute  Pamphlet  5,  no. 
3  (July  1918),  153-58. 

27.  Pierson,  Yale  College,  pp. 
444-46,  473-74;  Charles  F.  Thwing, 
The  American  Colleges  and  Univer- 
sities in  the  Great  War,  pp.  56-58; 
SATC,  vertical  file,  WRC. 

28.  Thresher.  February  6,  1919; 
McCants  to  Lovett,  August  30,  19 18; 
McCann  to  Lovett,  August  17,  1918, 
both  in  Presidents'  Papers,  Lovett, 
Office  Records,  World  War  I;  SATC, 
vertical  file,  WRC. 

29.  Caldwell  to  Robert  E.  Vinson, 
October  24,  19 18;  Commissioner 
Rees  to  Lovett,  November  26,  19 18, 
both  in  Presidents'  Papers,  Lovett, 


Office  Records,  World  War  I;  Pierson, 
Yale  College,  pp.  444-4S,  473-74; 
SATC,  vertical  file,  WRC. 

30.  Faculty  Minutes,  November  19, 
1918,  December  5,  1918;  Committee 
on  Education  and  Special  Training  to 
A.  H.  Wheeler,  lanuary  3,  19 19,  Pres- 
idents' Papers,  Lovett,  Office  Rec- 
ords, World  War  I;  Thresher,  February 
6,  1919. 

31.  Axson  to  Baker,  June  24,  1918, 
Presidents'  Papers,  Lovett,  Office 
Records,  Trustees;  Hawes  to  Lovett, 
lanuary  3,  19 19,  Presidents'  Papers, 
Lovett,  Department  Records. 

32.  Board  Minutes,  December  31, 
19 1 8,  February  26,  19 19;  Wheeler  to 
Cohn,  January  11,  1919;  Lovett  to 
Cohn,  February  27,  1919,  both  in 
Presidents'  Papers,  Lovett,  Office 
Records,  Trustees;  Floyd  Seward 
Lear,  "History  and  the  Humanities  in 
Our  Earlier  Years,"  5. 

33.  Caldwell  to  Lovett,  July  16, 
1929,  July  17,  1932,  Lovett,  Personal 
Papers,  Unarranged;  Board  Minutes, 
July  14,  1919. 

34.  Newspaper  clippings  on  Hux- 
ley lectures.  Presidents'  Papers,  Lov- 
ett, Miscellaneous  Correspondence; 
Houston  Chronicle.  May  22,  1916; 
Baker  to  Lovett,  February  15,  1918; 
D.  K.  Cason  to  Baker,  February  s, 

19 1 8,  both  in  Presidents'  Papers,  Lov- 
ett, Office  Records,  Trustees. 

35.  I?)  to  Board  of  Trustees,  March 
II,  1918,  Presidents'  Papers,  Lovett, 
Office  Records. 

36.  Most  of  the  information  for 
this  episode  comes  from  the  Lyford  P. 
Edwards  file  in  the  vertical  file, 
WRC.  This  file  consists  of  newspaper 
clippings  from  several  papers  with 
the  Houston  Post  and  the  Houston 
Chronicle  predominant,  dating  from 
May  14,  1 9 19,  to  June  22,  1919. 
Other  sources  are  "To  the  Public" 
(the  trustees'  statement;  n.d.|.  Presi- 
dents' Papers,  Lovett,  Office  Records; 
Lyford  P.  Edwards  to  Jerome  Davis, 
November  17,  1931,  Presidents'  Pa- 


pers, Lovett,  Office  Records;  Resolu- 
tion on  Academic  Freedom,  Faculty 
Minutes,  May  26,  1919;  Muir, 
"Rice's  Future";  Thresher.  May  22, 
19 1 9. 

Chapter  s      '^     '^ 

1.  Elisha  D.  Embree  and  Thomas  B. 
Eaton,  The  Flying  Owls:  Rice  Insti- 
tute from  the  Air 

2.  Thresher,  October  22,  1920,  Sep- 
tember 22,  1922,  October  12,  1923; 
Faculty  Minutes,  October  6,  1921; 
Weiser  to  Lovett,  January  7,  1920, 
Presidents'  Papers,  Lovett,  Depart- 
ment Records;  Chandler  to  Lovett, 
January  29,  1923,  ibid. 

3.  Faculty  Minutes,  June  5,  1919, 
February  12,  1920,  March  11,  1920, 
April  8,  1920,  June  4,  1921. 

4.  Faculty  Minutes,  May  17,  1923; 
Thresher,  October  12,  1923. 

5.  Faculty  Minutes,  November  8, 
1923,  November  22,  1923;  Board 
Minutes,  March  5,  1924. 

6.  Board  Minutes,  March  5,  1924; 
Notice  to  the  Faculty,  November  21, 

1 1 924],  Presidents'  Papers,  Lovett,  Of- 
fice Records;  Faculty  Minutes,  No- 
vember 8,  1923,  November  22,  1923. 

7.  Thresher.  September  21,  1926; 
"Suggestions  regarding  the  matter  of 
admissions  to  the  Rice  Institute," 
from  S.  G.  McCann,  May  28,  1927, 
Presidents'  Papers,  Lovett,  Office 
Records;  Board  Minutes,  June  18, 
1927. 

8.  Caldwell  to  Lovett,  December  8, 

1927,  Presidents'  Papers,  Lovett,  Of- 
fice Records. 

9.  Caldwell  to  Lovett,  December 
19,  1927,  ibid. 

ID.  Caldwell  to  Lovett,  May  4, 

1928,  ibid. 

11.  Ibid. 

12.  Hughes  to  Lovett,  June  25, 

19 19,  Presidents'  Papers,  Lovett,  De- 
partment Records;  Wilson  to  Lovett, 
March  26,  1920,  ibid.;  Lovett  to  Wil- 


Notes 


225 


son,  July  17,  1919,  April  3,  1920, 
ibid.;  Lovett  to  various  university 
presidents,  April  3,  1920,  and  replies, 
ibid.;  Board  Minutes,  July  24,  19 18, 
May  21,  1919,  July  14,  1919,  May  22, 
1920,  July  10,  1920,  May  18,  1921. 

13.  Board  Minutes,  July  10,  1920, 
June  27,  1923,  July  23,  1924,  July  i, 
1925,  June  22,  1926,  June  18,  1929. 

14.  Lovett  to  Baker,  April  2,  1923, 
Lovett,  Personal  Papers. 

IS-  Houston  Post.  February  15, 
1924,  May  7,  1924. 

16.  Houston  Chronicle.  June  9, 
1924;  clipping  with  no  paper  given, 
dated  June  10,  1924,  both  in  Presi- 
dents' Papers,  Lovett,  Office  Records, 
Commencement;  Houston  Post.  De- 
cember 12,  1924. 

17.  Thresher,  September  21,  1926, 
November  25,  1926;  Houston  Post, 
December  31,  1929,  September  30, 
1930;  Lovett  to  D.  S.  Jordan,  May  9, 
1929,  Presidents'  Papers,  Lovett,  Of- 
fice Records,  Trustees.  The  registrar 
of  Stanford  replied  that  all  that  was 
necessary  to  charge  tuition  was  an 
enabling  act  of  the  California  legisla- 
ture. Houston  Chronicle,  December 
30,  1928;  Houston  Press,  April  i, 
1929;  Slaughter  to  Baker,  June  19, 
1929,  Presidents'  Papers,  Lovett,  Of- 
fice Records,  Trustees;  Baker  to 
Slaughter,  June  20,  1929,  ibid.;  Board 
Minutes,  May  20,  1929;  Will  Hogg  to 
George  S.  Cohen,  June  26,  1929,  Lov- 
ett, Personal  Papers. 

18.  Chandler  to  Lovett,  November 
28,  1933,  Presidents'  Papers,  Lovett, 
Department  Records;  McCants  to 
Lovett,  September  30,  1924,  ibid.; 
Wilson  to  Lovett,  June  3,  1924,  ibid.; 
C.  W  Heaps  to  Lovett,  July  5,  1924, 
ibid.;  Lovett  to  W.  S.  Parish,  June  6, 

1924,  Lovett,  Personal  Papers;  Fac- 
ulty Minutes,  June  7,  1924;  Thresher, 
October  3,  1924,  October  30,  1925, 
April  II,  1924. 

19.  Wilson  to  Lovett,  February  11, 

1925,  February  15,  1925,  March  2, 
1925,  Lovett,  Personal  Papers,  Unar- 


ranged;  Lovett  to  Wilson,  March  24, 

1925,  ibid.;  Baker  to  McCants,  Febru- 
ary 12,  1925,  ibid.;  Board  Minutes, 
March  20,  1925;  Wilson  to  Lovett, 
April  10,  1923,  Presidents'  Papers, 
Lovett,  Department  Records;  W.  S. 
Parish  to  Lovett,  March  23,  1925, 
ibid.;  Chandler  to  Lovett,  May  5, 

1926,  ibid.;  Altenburg  to  Lovett,  Au- 
gust 16,  1924,  ibid. 

20.  As  president  of  the  Institute, 
Lovett  received  a  salary  of  Si 2,000  in 

1920,  which  was  raised  to  Si6,ooo  in 

1 92 1.  This  was  very  high  for  the 
South  and  higher  than  all  the  col- 
leges studied  by  the  registrar  of 
Georgetown  College  in  1925.  "Salary 
Study  by  the  Registrar  of  George- 
town College,"  1925,  in  Presidents' 
Papers,  Lovett,  Office  Records.  Board 
Minutes,  January  8,  1926,  June  21, 
1928. 

21.  Weiser  to  Lovett,  March  26, 

1927,  Presidents'  Papers,  Lovett,  De- 
partment Records;  Evans  to  Lovett, 
January  14,  1929,  Lovett,  Personal 
Papers,  Unarranged;  Watkm  to  Lov- 
ett, May  27,  1929,  ibid. 

22.  Altenburg  to  Lovett,  August 
16,  1924,  Presidents'  Papers,  Lovett, 
Department  Records;  Thresher,  April 
3,  1925- 

23.  Houston  Chronicle,  April  22, 
1929,  April  29,  1929.  Miss  Dean  was 
apparently  never  appointed  as  the 
Chronicle  recommended. 

24.  Faculty  Minutes,  January  15, 
1920;  James  U.  Teague,  June  29, 
1977;  John  Parish,  September  28, 
1977. 

25.  Board  Minutes,  March  21, 
1927;  Lovett,  speech  to  Faculty  Club, 
October  i,  1931,  Lovett,  Personal  Pa- 
pers, Speeches;  Thresher,  January  22, 

1920,  March  25,  1927,  November  24, 
1927. 

26.  Faculty  Minutes,  March  6, 
1919,  May  28,  1919,  February  24, 

1921,  May  5,  1921,  March  25,  1921, 
January  12,  1922,  February  23,  1922, 
November  20,  1922,  June  10,  1922, 


May  7,  1925,  June  6,  192s,  February 
II,  1926,  April  15,  1926,  January  13, 
1928,  February  13,  1928,  June  6, 
1928;  Thresher,  May  15,  1925;  An- 
nouncements, 1927,  pp.  38-39, 
45-48. 

27.  Faculty  Minutes,  November  4, 
1920,  June  2,  1926,  June  5,  1926,  June 
4,  1927;  Thresher,  April  29,  1927; 
Announcements,  1926,  p.  52-53; 
1927,  pp.  55-56. 

28.  Faculty  Minutes,  April  3,  19 19, 
November  18,  1920,  December  2, 
1920,  February  24,  192 1;  Thresher, 
February  27,  1919,  March  6,  1919, 
October  29,  1920,  January  7,  1921, 
October  21,  1927;  H.  K.  Humphrey 
to  [?],  November  i,  1927,  Presidents' 
Papers,  Lovett,  Office  Records. 

29.  Lmdsey,  Dyer,  Hinckley,  and 
DePrato  were  in  track  and  field 
sports,  and  Underwood  and  Dyer 
again  were  consensus  All-Conference 
in  football.  Football  '77;  Southwest 
Conference  Roster  and  Record  Book, 
pp.  61-69;  Basketball  'j8:  The  1978 
Southwest  Conference  Roster  and 
Record  Book,  pp.  24-29;  Southwest 
Conference  1978  Spring  Sports  Me- 
dia Guide,  pp.  24-36;  Watkin  to 
Lovett,  December  9,  1923,  Presi- 
dents' Papers,  Lovett,  Office  Records; 
Thresher.  December  14,  1923.  There 
is  some  evidence  that  President  Lov- 
ett was  about  to  ask  for  Arbuckle's 
resignation,  but  whether  he  did  is 
unclear.  At  any  rate,  Arbuckle  did  re- 
sign. Lovett  to  Arbuckle,  November 
28,  1923,  marked  "Not  sent,"  Presi- 
dents' Papers,  Lovett,  Office  Records. 

30.  Watkin  to  Lovett,  January  29, 
1924,  January  30,  1924,  February  3, 
1924,  February  6,  1924,  Presidents' 
Papers,  Lovett,  Office  Records; 
Watkin  to  Lovett,  February  3,  1924, 
William  Ward  Watkin  Papers,  WRC. 

31.  McCants  to  Watkm,  February 
7,  1924,  Presidents'  Papers,  Lovett, 
Office  Records;  Board  Minutes,  Feb- 
ruary 12,  1924,  April  2,  1924;  April 
25,  1924- 


226 


Notes 


32.  Thresher,  February  19,  1924, 
March  28,  1924,  April  11,  1924,  April 
18,  1924,  May  ^,  1924,  May  10,  1924, 
September  18,  1924;  Hubert  E.  Bray, 
June  18,  1976;  Gaylord  and  Louise 
Johnson,  February  20,  1978;  Jack  Ag- 
ness,  "All  About  the  Heisman," 
Houston  Post.  December  4,  1977. 

33.  Alex  C.  Humphreys  to  Palmer 
E.  Pierce,  lune  18,  1924;  Pierce  to 
Heisman,  July  7,  1924;  Watkin  to 
Heisman,  July  11,  1924;  Heisman  to 
Watkin,  July  15,  1924,  July  16,  1924; 
Pierce  to  Watkin,  July  16,  1924; 
Humphreys  to  Watkin,  luly  17,  1924; 
Heisman  to  Lovett,  July  18,  1924; 
Watkin  to  Frank  W.  Nicholson,  No- 
vember 4,  1924,  all  in  Presidents'  Pa- 
pers, Lovett,  Office  Records. 

34.  Thresher.  April  3,  1925,  April 
10,  1925,  May  I,  1925,  October  9, 
1925.  Heisman  also  did  not  like 
the  idea  of  female  cheerleaders; 
Thresher.  November  7,  1924.  East 
Hall,  before  Heisman  appropriated  it, 
had  been  the  place  for  seniors  and 
"big  men  on  campus"  to  live.  Dean 
G.  Holmes  Richter,  who  was  one  of 
the  tutors  for  the  athletes,  remarked 
that  he  did  not  know  how  Heisman 
managed  to  get  hold  of  that  building. 
G.  Holmes  Richter,  July  5,  1977. 

35.  Gaylord  and  Louise  Johnson, 
February  20,  1978. 

36.  Thresher.  January  21,  1927; 
Football  '77,  p.  64. 

37.  Heisman  Terms,  November  21, 
1927,  Presidents'  Papers,  Lovett,  Of- 
fice Records;  Lovett  to  Heisman,  De- 
cember I,  1927,  ibid.;  Heisman  to 
Lovett,  December  2,  1927,  ibid.; 
Board  Minutes,  December  g,  1927; 
Thresher.  December  9,  1927;  Gaylord 
and  Louise  Johnson,  February  20, 
1978. 

38.  Watkin  to  Baker,  December  5, 
1927,  Presidents'  Papers,  Lovett,  Of- 
fice Records. 

39.  Baker  to  Lamar  Fleming,  Jr., 
February  20,  1929,  Presidents'  Pa- 
pers, Lovett,  Office  Records,  Trust- 


ees; "Note  on  the  Proposed  Course  in 
Physical  Education,"  from  H.  A.  Wil- 
son, December  4,  I92|8?|,  Presidents' 
Papers,  Lovett,  Office  Records. 

40.  Faculty  Minutes,  December  1 3, 
1928. 

41.  Board  Minutes,  February  27, 
1929;  Fleming  to  Baker,  February  i  s, 
1929,  March  6,  1929,  Presidents' 
Papers,  Lovett,  Office  Records, 
Trustees. 

42.  Announcements.  1930,  pp. 
95-99;  Watkin  to  Lovett,  January  16, 
1929,  January  17,  1929,  Presidents' 
Papers,  Lovett,  Department  Records. 

43.  Harris  Masterson,  Jr.,  to  Lovett, 
September  30,  192 1,  Autry-Master- 
son,  Lovett  Papers,  WRC;  Thresher. 
September  30,  1921,  October  23, 
1947;  Autry  House,  vertical  file, 
WRC. 

44.  Henry  A.  Tillett,  December  23, 
1975;  Programs  for  the  Rice  Institute 
Engineering  Show,  WRC;  Thresher. 
May  13,  1920,  February  4,  1921, 
April  23,  1926. 

4v  Thresher.  November  s,  1920, 
November  19,  1920,  October  6,  1922, 
November  7,  1930,  May  6,  1921,  May 
12,  1922,  February  8,  1924;  Cam- 
panile. 1922.  The  pageant  for  the 
first  May  Fete  presented  the  poem 
from  the  opening,  "Texas,  A  Demo- 
cratic Ode."  Article  on  Archi-Arts 
from  Pencil  Points  (March  1922I,  in 
Watkin  Papers;  Thresher.  November 
II,  1921,  October  19,  1923. 

46.  Thresher.  October  22,  1920, 
April  8,  1921,  November  3,  1922, 
September  25,  1925,  October  16, 
192s,  October  23,  1925;  Andrew  For- 
est Muir,  "Rice's  Future  Mapped  in 
Early  1900s." 

47.  Thresher.  January  26,  1923,  Oc- 
tober 19,  1923,  November  2,  1923, 
September  18,  1924,  February  is, 
1924,  September  26,  1924,  October 
17,  1924,  October  24,  1924,  October 
31,  1924,  November  27,  1924,  Febru- 
ary 27,  1925- 

48.  Thresher.  March  27,  19 19; 


Houston  Chronicle.  March  29,  1929. 

49.  Constitution  of  the  Student 
Association,  1922,  in  Dean  of  Stu- 
dents File,  Cameron;  Thresher.  Janu- 
ary 13,  1922,  March  10,  1922. 

so.  Caldwell  to  Lovett,  May  6, 
1922,  Faculty  Minutes,  Early  Com- 
mittee Lists,  December  2,  1920,  June 
S,  1922;  Thresher.  March  2,  1962; 
Fred  J.  Stancliff,  September  28,  1977; 
"Statement  read  to  the  students  of 
Rice  at  a  called  meeting  held  in  the 
Physics  Amphitheatre  at  twelve- 
fifteen  O'clock,  Thursday,  June 
Eighth,"  June  8,  1922,  Presidents'  Pa- 
pers, Lovett,  Office  Records.  The 
clubs  that  were  abolished  can  be  seen 
in  the  Campanile.  1922.  They  were 
the  Tattlers,  Blue  Moon,  Hoots, 
Sigma  Beta,  Idlers,  Alpha  Rho,  Samu- 
rai, and  the  Ku  Klux  Klan.  The  Toil- 
ers had  disbanded  themselves  in  May 
"in  the  interest  of  Rice  Institute." 
Thresher.  May  26,  1922. 

5 1.  "Statement  read  to  the  stu- 
dents," June  8,  1922,  Presidents'  Pa- 
pers, Lovett,  Office  Records. 

52.  Fred  J.  Stancliff,  oral  communi- 
cation, March  28,  1979. 

53.  Thresher.  September  15,  1922. 

54.  Thresher.  September  15,  1922, 
October  13,  1922,  October  20,  1922, 
November  28,  1930;  Faculty  Min- 
utes, October  19,  1922,  January  18, 
1923. 

55.  Thresher.  September  21,  1923, 
September  28,  1923,  February  23, 
1924,  January  22,  1926,  April  16, 
1926,  March  25,  1927,  April  15, 
1927;  Faculty  Minutes,  November  8, 
1924. 

56.  Board  Minutes,  October  5, 
1927;  Thresher.  May  18,  1928,  Octo- 
ber 12,  1928,  November  9,  1928,  Jan- 
uary II,  1929,  November  8,  1929, 
November  28,  1930. 

57.  Thresher.  November  2s,  1920, 
December  3,  1920,  November  22, 
1929- 

58.  Ella  Lonn  to  Lovett,  April  7, 
1922;  Pamphlet,  AAUW,  192s;  Mary 


Notes 


227 


S.  Torrens,  Report  of  AAUW  Con- 
ference, April  1926;  Lonn  to  Lovett, 
March  8,  1927;  Lovett  to  Mrs.  Leata 
Mercer,  April  14,  i9}0;  Mary  H. 
Smith  to  Edwina  Wiess,  November  4, 
1936;  Wheeler  to  Wiess,  November 
30,  1936;  Wheeler  to  Mrs.  Don  Kim- 
mel,  November  14,  1945,  all  in  Presi- 
dents' Papers,  Lovett,  Office  Records. 

59.  Oscar  M.  Voorhees  to  Lovett, 
December  30,  1921,  September  26, 
1922,  Presidents'  Papers,  Lovett,  Of- 
fice Records;  John  J.  McGill  to  Lov- 
ett, May  23,  1927,  ibid.;  Thresher. 
October  5,  1928,  January  25,  1929, 
March  i,  1929,  March  8,  1929, 
March  21,  1930. 

Chapter  6  JA    ^^3^   ' 

1.  Outline  of  a  System  of  Ac- 
counts, Budgets,  and  Reports  for  the 
Board  of  Trustees,  May  30,  1947, 
Budget  File,  Comptroller's  Office. 

2.  Baker  to  Lovett,  March  26,  1932, 
Lovett,  Personal  Papers,  Unarranged; 
Cohn  to  Baker,  March  25,  1932, 
ibid.;  Board  Minutes,  May  25,  1932. 

3.  Board  Minutes,  June  24,  193 1, 
June  2,  1932. 

4.  Board  Minutes,  June  5,  1932, 
June  8,  1932;  Wilson  to  Lovett,  April 
4,  1932,  Presidents'  Papers,  Lovett, 
Department  Records;  Baker  to  Lov- 
ett, June  6,  1932,  Presidents'  Papers, 
Lovett,  Office  Records,  Trustees. 

5.  Board  Minutes,  June  29,  1932. 

6.  Wilson  to  Lovett,  June  9,  1932, 
Lovett,  Personal  Papers,  Unarranged; 
Board  Minutes,  June  29,  1932. 

7.  Board  Minutes,  June  i,  1932, 
August  24,  1932;  Report  on  William 
M.  Rice  Institute  for  the  Advance- 
ment of  Literature,  Science  and  Art, 
prepared  for  the  Board  of  Trustees  by 
the  Survey  Committee,  May  7,  1945, 
Presidents'  Papers,  Lovett,  Office 
Records,  Trustees  (cited  hereafter  as 
Survey  Committee  Report). 

8.  Board  Minutes,  April  11,  1933; 


Houston  Chronicle.  April  12,  1933, 
April  13,  1933,  September  8,  1933; 
Thresher.  April  14,  1933;  Baker  to 
Trustees,  April  3,  1933,  Presidents' 
Papers,  Lovett,  Office  Records.  Board 
v/as  provided  for  the  students  at  cost, 
and  the  price  fluctuated  from  month 
to  month.  The  initial  cost  v^'as  $1.05 
in  1931;  it  dropped  to  94(1:  in  1933, 
rose  to  981  in  1934,  and  to  $1.00  in 
1936.  Rooms  had  previously  cost 
from  $78  to  $115  in  1932,  depending 
on  the  size  of  the  room  and  the  num- 
ber of  roommates.  The  new  plan 
charged  everyone  a  flat  rate  of  $90. 
Announcements,  1931,  1932,  1933, 
1934,  1935,  1936- 

9.  Baker  to  Lovett,  February  24, 
1933,  Presidents'  Papers,  Lovett,  Of- 
fice Records;  Board  Minutes,  May  26, 
1933- 

ID.  Houston  Chronicle,  December 
3,  1934,  December  6,  1934,  Decem- 
ber 7,  1934,  July  28,  1938,  July  29, 
1938;  Thresher.  December  7,  1934; 
Board  Minutes,  May  18,  1939,  De- 
cember 19,  1934. 

1 1.  Baker  to  Lovett,  June  4,  1936, 
Presidents'  Papers,  Lovett,  Office 
Records,  Trustees;  Weiser  to  Lovett, 
August  9,  1936,  Presidents'  Papers, 
Lovett,  Department  Records;  Board 
Minutes,  June  3,  1936;  Faculty  Min- 
utes, June  6,  1936. 

12.  Houston  Chronicle,  December 
23,  1936,  January  8,  1937. 

13.  Board  Minutes,  December  24, 
1936;  Houston  Chronicle,  December 
23,  1936,  January  8,  1937;  Thresher, 
September  15,  1938;  Baker  to  Lovett, 
October  19,  1938,  Presidents'  Papers, 
Lovett,  Office  Records,  Trustees. 

14.  Houston  Chronicle,  July  14, 
1933,  July  30,  1933,  September  11, 
1933,  October  11,  1931;  Thresher. 
March  6,  1931,  March  20,  1931; 
Sarah  Lane,  August  10,  1976. 

15.  Hubert  E.  Bray,  June  18,  1976; 
Wilson  to  Lovett,  June  9,  1932,  Lov- 
ett, Personal  Papers,  Unarranged. 

16.  J.  D.  Thomas,  July  13,  1977; 


Carroll  Camden,  September  20, 
1977;  Evans  to  Lovett,  October  12, 
1933,  Presidents'  Papers,  Department 
Records;  Board  Minutes,  October  18, 
193  3;  Houston  Chronicle,  October 
27,  1933- 

17.  Watkin  to  F.  Browne,  February 
I,  1934,  Watkin  Papers;  Survey  Com- 
mittee Report,  March  8,  1945,  Presi- 
dents' Papers,  Lovett,  Office  Records, 
Trustees;  Thresher.  March  i,  1935; 
Faculty  Minutes,  April  15,  1935- 

18.  Board  Minutes,  April  20,  1938, 
August  4,  1905,  February  25,  1942; 
Lovett  to  Nicholas  Murray  Butler, 
October  29,  1935,  Presidents'  Papers, 
Lovett,  Office  Records,  Trustees. 

19.  Scott  to  Lovett,  December  14, 
1933/  Presidents'  Papers,  Lovett,  De- 
partment Records;  Weiser  to  Lovett, 
July  28,  1934,  ibid.;  Houston  Chroni- 
cle, June  4,  1933,  November  28, 
1937. 

20.  Thresher,  January  17,  1936; 
Houston  Chronicle,  March  11,  1932; 
A.  C.  Lederer  to  Rice  University  His- 
torical Commission,  May  10,  1978, 
in  possession  of  the  commission; 
Eula  Goss  Wintermann,  July  24, 
1978. 

21.  Baker  to  Lovett,  April  26,  19387" 
Presidents'  Papers,  Lovett,  Office 
Records,  Trustees;  Lawrence  Sochat 
to  Baker,  April  22,  1938,  ibid.;  H. 
Meyer  to  Editor,  Houston  Press,  n.d., 
clipping,  ibid.;  Lovett  to  Baker,  June 
20,  1938,  ibid.;  Thresher.  April  29, 
1938. 

22.  Baker  to  James  W.  Rockwell, 
October  6,  1937,  in  Board  Minutes, 
October  13,  1927;  Thresher  January 
22,  1937;  Andre  Bourgeois,  Novem- 
ber 28,  1977. 

23.  Thresher.  October  22,  1937. 

24.  Board  Minutes,  May  24,  1922, 
November  28,  1928,  May  28,  1930. 

25.  Thresher.  October  28,  1932, 
November  4,  1932;  Houston  Chroni- 
cle. November  4,  1932,  November 
10,  1932,  March  20,  1934. 

26.  Thresher  November  28,  1930, 


228 


Notes 


September  is,  1932,  Oetober  7,  lyu, 
September  13,  1934,  September  19, 
1940,  September  27,  1940,  Oetober  4, 

1940,  October  17,  1940,  October  10, 

1941,  October  2,  1942;  Houston 
Chronicle,  September  14,  1933,  Sep- 
tember 27,  19??,  October  24,  19^3, 
September  11,  1934,  September  19, 
1935,  September  24,  19U';  news- 
paper clippmgs  with  no  papers 
named,  dated  September  16,  1938, 
October  i,  1938,  September  14,  1939, 
September  19,  1940,  September  24, 

1940,  Oetober  5,  1940,  September  18, 

1941,  September  27,  1941,  from  a 
collection  of  newspaper  clippings 
made  by  Dr.  Floyd  S.  Lear  and  given 
to  the  Woodson  Research  Center  by 
the  Rice  University  Historical  Com- 
mission, cited  hereafter  as  Lear 
clippings. 

27.  Thresher,  April  11,  1930,  Oeto- 
ber 28,  1938;  Pound  to  Lovett,  April 
9,  1938,  Presidents'  Papers,  Lovett, 
Department  Records. 

28.  Thresher,  March  17,  i933, 
March  6,  1936,  March  13,  193''^; 
Baker  to  Lovett,  March  30,  1933, 
Presidents'  Papers,  Lovett,  Office 
Records;  Houston  Chronicle,  April 
28,  1933,  May  4,  1933,  May  7,  I933; 
Lear  clippings,  March  7,  1940. 

29.  Houston  Chronicle,  October 
27;  1933/  October  28,  1933,  October 
29/  1933/  October  30,  1933,  Novem- 
ber 9,  1933,  November  10,  1933,  No- 
vember 27,  1933,  November  28, 
1933;  Houston  Post,  November  8, 
1933;  Thresher,  November  3,  1933, 
November  10,  1933,  November  24, 
1933;  1.  D.  Thomas,  luly  13,  1977- 

30.  Cooperative  store  indenture  in 
Board  Minutes,  May  31,  1938;  Hans- 
zen  to  A.  H.  Fulbnght,  August  26, 
1947,  Presidents'  Papers,  Houston, 
Office  Records;  Fulbright  to  Hans- 
zcn,  September  2,  1947,  ibid.; 
Thresher,  May  ii,  1937,  May  23, 
1937/  October  4,  1938,  February  17, 
1939. 

31.  Andrew  Forest  Muir,  "Rice's 


Future  Mapped  in  Early  1900s"; 
Thresher,  April  24,  193ft;  Lear  clip- 
pings. May  28,  1939. 

32.  Houston  Chronicle,  February 
10,  1933,  February  12,  1933,  Novem- 
ber 30,  1933,  December  9,  1933,  15e- 
cember  10,  1933;  Houston  Post. 
February  10,  1933,  February  11, 
1933;  Thresher,  February  17,  1933, 
December  15,  1933. 

33.  Gaylord  and  Louise  Johnson, 
February  20,  1978;  Clark  Ncalon, 
February  2,  1978. 

34.  Clark  Nealon,  February  2, 
1978. 

35.  Board  Minutes,  October  s, 
1938;  Clark  Nealon,  February  2, 
1978;  Football  '71:  Southwest  Con- 
ference Roster  and  Record  Book, 

p.  14. 

36.  Football  'jj,  pp.  60-6S;  South- 
west Conference  1978  Spring  Sports 
Media  Guide,  pp.  24-36,  73-74,  84; 
Basketball  '78:  The  1978  Southwest 
Conference  Roster  and  Record  Book. 
pp.  26-29,  76-77;  Houston  Chroni- 
cle, March  5,  1934,  March  6,  1940, 
March  20,  1934,  April  8,  1934,  Au- 
gust 21,  1934. 

37.  Board  Minutes,  December  is, 
19^7,  lanuary  26,  1938,  March  30, 

1938;  Clark  Nealon,  February  2, 
1978;  Houston  Chronicle,  April  27, 
1938- 

38.  Houston  Post,  December  is, 
1939;  Thresher.  January  12,  1940; 
Football  '77.  PP-  60-65. 

39.  Thresher,  February  15,  i935, 
February  23,  1935,  March  1936. 

40.  Thresher.  March  3,  1939,  Sep- 
tember 14,  1939, 

September  29,  1939/  October  14, 
1941;  Houston  Chronicle,  October 

'7'  '''^'-  .  Ciy^ 


-V 


chapter  7 


'■'iU  ^^'^^ 


I.  Naval  ROTC,  vertical  file, 
WRC;  Thresher,  September  18,  1941. 
December  12,  1941,  December  20, 


1941.  It  appears  that  the  administra- 
tion had  applied  for  an  Army  ROTC 
unit  in  1940.  Lovett  said  that  the 
unit  had  been  approved  by  the  War 
Department,  but  it  was  never  estab- 
lished before  the  war.  Thresher.  Sep- 
tember 27/  1940. 

2.  The  provision  for  dental,  law, 
and  medical  students  remained  in 
effect  only  for  the  war  years.  Faculty 
Minutes,  February  s,  1942;  Board 
Minutes,  February  4,  1942. 

3.  L.  E.  Denfeld  to  Lovett,  March 
II,  1943,  Presidents'  Papers,  Lovett, 
Office  Records,  World  War  II;  "Man- 
ual for  the  Operation  of  a  Navy  V-12 
Unit,"  Navy  V-12  Bulletin,  no.  22 
(lune  18,  1943),  ibid.;  Board  Minutes, 
March  17,  1943;  Naval  ROTC,  verti- 
cal file,  WRC. 

4.  Thresher,  April  9,  1943;  L.  E. 
Denfeld  to  Lovett,  March  11,  1943, 
Presidents'  Papers,  Lovett,  Office 
Records,  World  War  II;  Board  Min- 
utes, April  7,  1943;  "The  Navy  Col- 
lege Training  Program — V-12, 
Curricula  Schedules,"  Presidents'  Pa- 
pers, Lovett,  Office  Records,  Navy. 

5.  Thresher,  July  8,  1943,  August 
19,  1943,  September  9,  1943,  April  9, 
1943;  "The  Navy  College  Training 
Program — V-12,  Curricula  Sched- 
ules," Presidents'  Papers,  Lovett,  Of- 
fice Records,  Navy;  "V-12  and 
NROTC  Routine,"  ibid.;  Campanile. 
1944,  vols.  I  and  2;  Naval  ROTC, 
vertical  file,  WRC;  George  Holmes 
Riehter,  July  5,  i977;  Houston 
Chronicle,  June  25,  1943. 

6.  Andrew  Forest  Muir,  "Rice's  Fu- 
ture Mapped  in  Early  1900s";  Board 
Minutes,  March  3,  1943;  Lovett  to 
Meyer,  February  25,  1943,  Presidents' 
Papers,  Lovett,  Department  Records; 
Thresher.  April  20,  1944. 

7.  Announcements,  1947,  pp. 
129-35;  I9S2,  pp.  187-90;  Report 
to  the  President  from  the  Registrar, 
1946,  1947,  Registrar's  Office  Files. 

8.  Board  Minutes,  April  16,  1941; 
Houston  Post,  November  23,  1940, 


Notes 


229 


November  24,  1940;  Houston  Chron- 
icle, November  23,  1940. 

9.  Board  Minutes,  April  23,  1941. 

10.  Board  Minutes,  May  14,  1941; 
Houston  Post.  May  18,  1941,  May  20, 
1941;  Houston  Chronicle.  May  18, 
1941,  May  20,  1941. 

11.  Board  Minutes,  August  13, 

1941,  October  8,  1941,  May  6,  1942; 
Thresher,  September  18,  1941;  Hous- 
ton Chronicle.  August  14,  1942,  (une 
2,  1942. 

12.  Houston  Chronicle,  December 
28,  1941,  October  15,  1941. 

13.  Board  Minutes,  August  6,  1941, 
November  9,  1938,  December  7, 
1938. 

14.  Board  Minutes,  January  9, 
1940,  March  20,  1940;  William  A. 
Kirkland,  |uly  19,  1977. 

15.  Board  Minutes,  February  11, 

1942,  May  6,  1942,  February  i,  195 1. 

16.  Charter  of  the  William  M.  Rice 
Institute  for  the  Advancement  of  Lit- 
erature. Science  and  Art.  WRC. 

17.  Board  Minutes,  October  7, 
1942,  November  9,  1942,  November 
18,  1942,  November  28,  1942,  De- 
cember 18,  1942;  Auditor's  Report  as 
of  June  30,  1943,  Presidents'  Papers, 
Lovett,  Fiscal  Records;  H.  Malcolm 
Lovett,  June  27,  1977;  Thresher,  De- 
cember 4,  1942;  Houston  Chronicle. 
November  24,  1942,  December  18, 

1942,  December  19,  1942,  January  i, 

1943,  January  16,  1944,  April  5,  1944. 

18.  Board  Minutes,  July  6,  1944, 
September  17,  1948;  Houston  Chron- 
icle. March  22,  1935,  July  6,  1944; 
Thresher,  December  9,  1955- 

19.  Carl  M.  Knapp  to  Board  of 
Trustees,  May  30,  1944,  Presidents' 
Papers,  Lovett,  Office  Records;  Lov- 
ett to  Brown,  July  20,  1944,  Presi- 
dents' Papers,  Lovett,  Office  Records, 
Trustees. 

20.  Board  Minutes,  February  28, 
1945;  Lovett  speech  on  the  naming 
of  Wiess  Hall,  March  25,  1950,  Lov- 
ett, Personal  Papers,  Speeches. 

21.  Survey  Committee  Report, 


May  7,  1945, 

22.  Ibid.;  "Rice  Looks  Forward," 
speech  by  H.  C.  Wiess,  in  Wiess  to 
Scott,  November  8,  1945,  Presidents' 
Papers,  Lovett,  Office  Records, 
Trustees. 

23.  Board  Minutes,  July  30,  1945. 

24.  Board  Minutes,  October  11, 
1945;  "Rice  Looks  Forward,"  speech 
by  Wiess,  in  Wiess  to  Scott,  Novem- 
ber 8,  1945,  Presidents'  Papers,  Lov- 
ett, Office  Records,  Trustees. 

25.  Board  Minutes,  April  8,  1942; 
Lovett  to  W  M.  Rice,  Jr.,  November 
19,  1942,  Lovett,  Personal  Papers, 
Correspondence;  Lovett  to  Cleve- 
land, February  22,  1944,  Presidents' 
Papers,  Lovett,  Office  Records,  Trust- 
ees; Cleveland  to  Lovett,  June  14, 

1944,  ibid.;  Wiess  to  W  K.  Lewis, 
March  31,  1945,  ibid. 

26.  Survey  Committee  Report, 
May  7,  1945- 

27.  Remarks  of  J.  T.  Scott,  April  10, 

1945,  in  Faculty  Minutes,  April  14, 
194.S. 

28.  Faculty  Minutes,  April  14, 
1945;  Preliminary  report  submitted 
to  the  Trustees  of  the  Rice  Institute 
by  the  Committee  selected  by  the 
Faculty  for  consultation  on  the 
choice  of  a  new  President,  April  25, 
1945,  Treasurer's  Office  Correspon- 
dence, Retirement  of  Dr.  Lovett  and 
Selection  of  a  new  President,  Trea- 
surer's Office;  George  Fiolmes  Rich- 
ter,  July  5,  1977,  March  9,  1978. 

29.  Wiess  left  notes  of  his  meetings 
and  phone  calls  during  his  travels, 
and  without  these  notes  it  would 
have  been  very  difficult  to  trace  the 
hiring  process.  Very  little  correspon- 
dence with  the  candidates  or  their 
supporters  survives.  Notes  and  other 
enclosures  from  Wiess  are  with 
Weiss  to  Members  of  the  Board,  June 
9,  1945,  Presidents'  Papers,  Lovett, 
Office  Records,  Trustees;  Wiess  to 
Scott,  June  12,  1945,  ibid.;  Wiess  to 
Members  of  the  Board,  June  15,  1945, 
ibid.;  Wiess  to  Members  of  the  Board, 


July  1 3,  1945,  ibid.;  Wiess  to  Mem- 
bers of  the  Board,  November  20, 
1945,  ibid.  Other  sources  for  this  sec- 
tion are  Faculty  Minutes,  April  14, 
1945;  Board  Minutes,  April  11,  1945, 
January  4,  1946;  McKillop,  Richter, 
and  Ryon  to  Trustees,  April  25,  1945, 
Treasurer's  Office  Correspondence, 
Retirement  of  Dr.  Lovett  and  Selec- 
tion of  a  new  President;  Wiess  to  W 
K.  Lewis,  March  31,  1945,  Presidents' 
Papers,  Lovett,  Office  Records,  Trust- 
ees; George  Holmes  Richter,  July  5, 
1977,  March  9,  1978. 

30.  Board  Minutes,  January  4, 
1946;  Press  Release,  January  4,  1946, 
Treasurer's  Office  Correspondence, 
Retirement  of  Dr.  Lovett  and  Selec- 
tion of  a  new  President;  H.  Malcolm 
Lovett,  May  19,  1976,  June  27,  1977, 
March  29,  1978;  William  A.  Kirk- 
land, July  19,  1977. 

31.  Board  Minutes,  June  27,  1946, 
May  21,  1947,  July  28,  1947;  Hans- 
zen  to  Trustees,  August  6,  1947, 
Presidents'  Papers,  Houston,  Office 
Records,  Board  Minutes;  Hanszen  to 
Trustees,  August  26,  1947,  ibid.;  Re- 
port of  Committee  on  the  System  of 
Accounts,  Budgets  and  Reports,  June 
2,  1947,  ibid.;  Report  of  Committee 
on  the  System  of  Accounts,  Budgets, 
and  Reports,  May  30,  1947,  Outline 
of  System,  Budget  File,  Comptroller's 
Office;  Kirkland  to  Samuel  L.  Fuller, 
March  19,  1947,  in  possession  of  the 
Rice  University  Historical  Commis- 
sion; Shamblin  to  Trustees,  May  4, 
1964,  ibid.;  Houston  Chronicle.  No- 
vember 13,  1946,  March  5,  1947; 
Thresher.  November  7,  1946,  March 
6,  1947. 

32.  Sketches  from  American  Men 
of  Science  and  Who's  Who  in  Amer- 
ica in  Wiess  to  Scott,  June  12,  1945, 
Presidents'  Papers,  Lovett,  Office 
Records,  Trustees;  Thresher.  April 
10,  1947. 

33.  Thresher,  April  10,  1947. 

34.  Muir,  "Rice's  Future";  Board 
Minutes,  December  4,  1947. 


230 


Notes 


35.  Muir,  "Rice's  Future";  Hous- 
ton's address  to  the  faculty,  March 
i6,  1946,  in  Faculty  Minutes,  March 
16,  1946. 

36.  Houston's  address  to  the  fac- 
ulty, March  16,  1946,  in  Faculty  Min- 
utes, March  16,  1946. 

37.  Faculty  Minutes,  March  16, 
1946. 

38.  The  assistants  to  the  president 
were  fames  C.  Morehead,  William  H. 
Masterson,  John  E.  Parish,  Thad 
Marsh,  and  Sanford  W.  Higgin- 
botham.  Thresher.  April  10,  i947; 
James  C.  Morehead,  April  6,  1978; 
William  H.  Masterson,  October  11, 
1977;  George  Holmes  Richter,  July  s, 
1977,  March  9,  1978. 

39.  Faculty  Mmutes,  April  15, 
1946,  June  28,  1946,  October  15, 

1946,  November  6,  1946,  April  23, 

1947,  April  18,  1949;  Mmutes  for  the 
Committee  on  Examinations  and 
Standing,  May  s.  1948,  Undergradu- 
ate Dean's  Office;  Houston  Chroni- 
cle, December  2,  1946,  August  14, 
1947;  Announcements.  1946,  pp. 
51-60,  106-  7,  109-16,  131-33; 
1947,  pp.  19-30,  44-52;  1949,  pp. 
57-67;  1950,  pp.  61-74;  George 
Holmes  Richter,  July  5,  1977,  March 
9,  1978. 

40.  Faculty  Minutes,  November  6, 
1946;  Thresher.  December  5,  1946; 
Announcements,  1940,  pp.  37-42; 
1947,  pp.  19-27. 

41.  Announcements.  1947,  pp. 
26-27. 

42.  Board  Minutes,  April  4,  1946, 
May  8,  1946,  May  29,  1946,  March  6, 
1947,  October  30,  1947;  Thresher. 
October  3,  1946;  Houston  Chronicle, 
September  18,  1947,  September  12, 
1948. 

43.  Thresher.  March  22,  1947,  May 
22,  1947;  Board  Minutes,  April  4, 
1946;  Houston  Chronicle.  November 
21,  1946. 

44.  Thresher.  October  9,  1947;  Co- 
operative Committee  on  Library 
Buildings,  Report,  April  27-28,  1945, 


Presidents'  Papers,  Lovett,  Office 
Records;  John  E.  Burchard  to  Trust- 
ees, January  i,  1946,  ibid.;  Heaps  to 
Burchard,  January  7,  1946,  ibid. 

45.  Board  Mmutes,  March  11, 

1946,  May  6,  1946,  October  30,  1947, 
December  3,  1947,  December  4, 
1947;  Hanszen  to  Trustees,  April  29, 

1947,  Presidents'  Papers,  Houston, 
Office  Records,  Board  Minutes; 
Houston  Chronicle.  November  8, 
1947,  June  29,  1946. 

46.  Thresher.  December  18,  1947; 
Houston  Chronicle,  December  22, 

1947,  November  21,  1948,  August 
15,  1949,  October  30,  1949. 

47.  Board  Minutes,  October  30, 
1947;  Houston  Chronicle.  March  12, 
1946. 

48.  Program  for  the  opening  of  Ab- 
ercrombie  Laboratory,  November  20, 

1948,  Presidents'  Papers,  Houston, 
Office  Records,  Abercrombie;  McVey 
to  Rather,  November  13,  1948,  ibid.; 
Maurice  J.  Sullivan  to  Hanszen,  April 
7,  1947,  ibid.;  Thresher.  February  12, 

1949,  McVey  also  did  the  sculptures 
for  the  San  Jacmto  Monument. 

49.  The  Houstons  had  been  pro- 
vided a  house  to  live  in  until  the 
house  on  campus  was  completed. 
Houston  Chronicle,  July  20,  1949; 
Thresher,  February  9,  1949,  March 
24,  1950;  Announcements.  1950,  pp. 
7-8,  42;  1952,  pp.  7-8,  44-4S- 

50.  Burchard  to  Wiess,  October  9, 

1947,  Presidents'  Papers,  Houston, 
Office  Records,  Stadium;  Burchard  to 
Wiess,  November  6,  1947,  ibid.; 
Houston  Chronicle.  December  2, 
1948-February  12,  1949,  May  6, 
1949,  February  15 -July  12,  1949,  No- 
vember 15-18,  1949,  November  20, 
1949,  November  23-December  4, 
1949;  Board  Minutes,  January  9, 

1948,  November  17,  I949,  December 
30,  1949. 

51.  Board  Mmutes,  January  9, 
1948,  November  17,  1949,  December 
30,  1949,  October  25,  195 1;  Jess 
Neely,  October  10,  1977;  Thresher. 


January  13,  1950,  September  15, 
1950;  Houston  Chronicle,  November 
20,  1949,  November  23,  1949,  De- 
cember 4,  1949,  December  30,  1949, 
April  5,  1950,  October  24,  1951. 

52.  Jess  Neely,  October  10,  1977; 
Houston  Chronicle,  August  31,  1949, 
November  5,  1949,  December  3, 
1950,  November  5,  195O;  Announce- 
ments, 1950,  pp.  7-8. 

53.  Thresher,  January  16,  1954, 
February  27,  1942,  May  15,  1942,  Oc- 
tober 16,  1942,  December  18,  1942, 
February  19,  1943,  November  18, 
1943,  November  26,  1943,  January  4, 
1945,  May  3,  1945,  May  23,  194S; 
Campanile,  1944. 

54.  Thresher.  May  17,  1945. 

55.  Thresher.  September  20,  1945. 

56.  Annoimcements.  1941,  pp. 
52-55;  1948,  pp.  64-67;  Houston 
Chronicle.  February  29,  1948;  Report 
to  the  President  from  the  Registrar 
|i948-49:|.  Registrar's  Office. 

57.  Report  to  the  Faculty  from  the 
Committee  on  the  Coordination  of 
Freshmen  (also  called  Committee  on 
the  Freshman  Course),  in  Faculty 
Minutes,  June  i,  1950;  Minutes, 
Committee  on  the  Freshman  Course, 
November  15,  1948,  January  17, 

1949,  January  20,  1949,  WRC. 

58.  Mmutes,  Committee  on  the 
Freshman  Course,  March  6,  1950, 
April  8,  1950,  April  17,  1950;  Com- 
mittee report  in  Faculty  Minutes, 
June  I,  1950;  Faculty  Minutes,  April 
II,  1950;  G.  Williams  to  Committee 
on  Examinations  and  Standing, 
marked  received  March  30,  1950, 
with  Minutes  of  the  Committee  on 
Examinations  and  Standing,  April  10, 

1950,  Undergraduate  Dean's  Office; 
Committee  on  Examinations  and 
Standing  to  Committee  on  the  Fresh- 
man Course,  April  10,  1950,  ibid.; 
Thresher.  May  18,  1949. 

59.  Faculty  Minutes,  February  13, 
1948,  April  23,  1947;  Thresher. 
March  25,  1948,  April  29,  1948, 
March  25,  1948. 


Notes 


2.31 


60.  Thresher.  October  31,  1946, 
February  13,  1947,  March  6,  1947, 
December  11,  1948,  December  9, 
1949;  Faculty  Minutes,  November 
II,  1948. 

61.  Thresher.  May  2,  1946. 

62.  Thresher.  April  17,  1947,  Febru- 
ary 17,  1950,  May  12,  1950;  Nancy 
Moore  Eubank,  February  22,  1978; 
Clara  Mohr  Kotch,  February  10, 
1978;  Paula  Meredith  Mosle,  Septem- 
ber 7,  1978. 

63.  Thresher,  April  17,  1947,  Febru- 
ary 17,  1950,  May  12,  195O;  Paula 
Meredith  Mosle,  September  7,  1978; 
Clara  Mohr  Kotch,  February  10, 
1978. 

64.  Thresher,  September  20,  194s, 
October  3,  1946,  October  24,  1946. 

65.  Thresher,  October  2,  1947. 

66.  Thresher,  September  22,  1948, 
September  25,  1948,  October  2,  1948, 
October  9,  1948,  April  30,  1949,  May 
7,  1949,  May  14,  1949,  September  30, 

1949,  October  7,  1949,  lanuary  13, 
1956;  Houston  Chronicle,  September 
30,  1949,  October  26,  1949,  October 
30,  1949,  March  15,  1950,  March  16, 

1950,  March  17,  1950;  Raymond  L. 
Lankford,  January  30,  1978. 

67.  Jess  Neely  October  10,  1977; 
Virgil  C.  Eikenberg,  February  9, 
1978;  Football  '77'  Southwest  Con- 
ference Roster  and  Record  Book,  pp. 
62-69. 

68.  Houston  Chronicle.  October 
21,  1948,  October  24,  1948;  Jess 
Neely,  October  10,  1977. 

69.  Basketball  '78:  The  1978 
Southwest  Conference  Roster  and 
Record  Book,  pp.  24-29,  68-70; 
Southwest  Conference  1978  Spring 
Sports  Media  Guide,  pp.  24-36, 
73-74- 

70.  The  Book  of  the  Opening, 
1:177. 


Chapter  8    ^_^^    /  ^b'^    * 

1.  Thresher,  September  22,  1950; 
Houston  Chronicle,  February  26, 

1950,  December  31,  1950;  Houston 
Post,  February  26,  1950. 

2.  Board  Minutes,  May  2,  1951, 
May  5,  1954,  September  30,  1959, 
April  22,  1953. 

3.  Hanszen  to  Board  of  Trustees, 
September  5,  1947,  Presidents'  Pa- 
pers, Houston,  Office  Records. 

4.  Fleming  to  Trustees,  September 
15,  1948,  Presidents'  Papers,  Pitzer, 
On  Campus,  1961-1963;  William  A. 
Kirkland,  July  19,  1977. 

5.  Board  Minutes,  August  5,  1949, 
September  23,  1949,  May  27,  1953; 
Houston  Chronicle.  September  8, 
1949;  William  A.  Kirkland,  July  19, 
1977;  James  U.  Teague,  June  29, 
1977;  Herbert  Allen,  September  27, 
1977- 

6.  The  donor's  stipulation  that  the 
music  school  be  housed  m  a  building 
in  the  style  of  early  colonial  Virgin- 
ian architecture  was  a  small  source 
of  worry  but  was  somehow  finally 
settled.  Board  Minutes,  November 
24,  1950,  February  i,  195  i,  March  8, 

1951,  May  2,  1951,  January  24,  1952, 
December  i,  1954,  April  22,  1953; 
Houston  Chronicle,  September  18, 
1950,  December  5,  1950,  January  6, 

1952,  June  I,  1958;  Houston  Post, 
December  5,  1950,  June  6,  1962. 

7.  Board  Minutes,  February  4, 

1953,  September  23,  1953,  May  5, 
1954;  Announcements,  1956,  p.  4. 
The  pledge  is  now  $15,000,  payable 
over  a  period  of  ten  years. 

8.  Board  Minutes,  February  23, 
1955;  Faculty  Minutes,  November 
22,  1955;  The  President's  Discre- 
tionary Research  Fund,  August  24, 
i960.  Presidents'  Papers,  Houston, 
Departments. 

9.  Houston  Chronicle,  September 
5,  1950,  February  8,  1953,  March  22, 

1954,  May  31,  1956,  March  30,  1957, 
June  8,  1956,  November  18,  1958, 


January  6,  1959,  April  24,  1959,  May 
31,  1959;  June  4,  1959;  Houston  Post. 
May  12,  1957;  Announcements, 
1959,  pp.  38-43;  i960,  pp.  62-66. 

10.  Board  Minutes,  July  25,  1956; 
Houston  to  Robert  M.  Hutchins,  Feb- 
ruary 28,  1951,  Presidents'  Papers, 
Houston,  Office  Records;  Ford  Foun- 
dation College  Grants  Advisory 
Committee  Questionnaire,  ibid.; 
Houston  to  Joseph  M.  McDaniel,  Jr., 
June  24,  1957,  ibid.;  Survey  of  Sal- 
aries, ibid.;  Thresher,  December  16, 
1955;  Houston  Chronicle,  June  24, 
1957- 

11.  Board  Minutes,  August  28, 
1950;  Thresher,  September  15,  1950, 
September  18,  1952,  September  16, 
1955,  April  6,  195 1. 

12.  Thresher,  May  15,  1953,  May 

10,  1957;  Faculty  Minutes,  October 
30,  195  3- 

13.  Board  Minutes,  June  15,  1953, 
June  24,  1953;  Houston  to  Croneis, 
June  18,  1953,  Presidents'  Papers, 
Houston,  Departments;  George 
Holmes  Richter,  March  9,  1978;  Wil- 
liam H.  Masterson,  October  11, 
1977- 

14.  Faculty  Minutes,  May  30, 

195  3;  Michael  V.  McEnany,  Septem- 
ber I,  1977. 

15.  Faculty  Minutes,  April  21, 
1955- 

16.  Board  Minutes,  May  7,  1958, 
July  30,  1958;  Thresher,  September 

11,  1958;  Houston  Post,  February  12, 
1960;  Houston  Chronicle,  February 

12,  i960. 

17.  Houston  Post,  December  21, 
195 1;  Houston  Chronicle.  January  4, 
195 1,  October  9,  1954;  William  H. 
Masterson  to  T  M.  Greene,  April  21, 
1954,  Presidents'  Papers,  Houston, 
Office  Records;  Board  Minutes,  Sep- 
tember 29,  1954. 

18.  Board  Minutes,  June  23,  1959; 
Thresher.  September  19,  1959;  Hous- 
ton Chronicle.  July  26,  1959;  Hous- 
ton to  Griffis,  May  8,  1959,  Presi- 
dents' Papers,  Pitzer,  On  Campus, 


232 


Notes 


1961-1963;  Faculty  Minutes,  Octo- 
ber 19,  1959. 

ig.  Announcements.  19^6,  p.  92; 
Houston  Post.  luly  is,  19s  i,  April 
13,  1956,  February  10,  i9S7;  Houston 
Chronicle,  October  14,  1951,  Decem- 
ber 12,  1954,  August  28,  195s,  Sep- 
tember 25,  I9S6,  February  19,  I9S7, 
April  4,  1958,  |une  3,  1960;  Thresher. 
February  27,  1953;  Tom  Bonner,  ver- 
tical file,  WRC;  Biology  Building, 
vertical  file,  WRC;  Geology  Building, 
vertical  file,  WRC. 

20.  Board  Minutes,  March  2s, 

1953,  May  5,  1954,  May  26,  19S4, 
December  is,  i949,  lunc  29,  19s  S, 
July  26,  I9SS;  Nielsen  and  McBride 
to  Houston,  (August  I9S5'1'  Presi- 
dents' Papers,  Houston,  Office  Rec- 
ords; Press  release,  ibid.;  Minutes  ot 
meeting  of  an  informal  committee 
on  the  Student  Religious  Center,  July 
13,  1955,  ibid.;  Houston  Post.  No- 
vember I,  1955. 

21.  Board  Minutes,  (une  29,  1955, 
September  28,  1955;  McBride  to  Por- 
ter Butts,  July  27,  1954,  November  8, 

19 54,  Presidents'  Papers,  Houston, 
Office  Records;  Minutes  of  informal 
committee  on  Student  Religious 
Center,  July  13,  19s S,  ibid.;  Houston 
Post.  November  i,  1955,  October  26, 
1958,  February  29,  1956;  Thresher. 
November  4,  19SS;  Houston  Chroni- 
cle. November  4,  1955,  October  26, 
1958. 

22.  Thresher.  November  6,  1963. 

23.  Houston  Chronicle.  September 
I,  1957;  Nancy  Moore  Eubank,  Feb- 
ruary 22,  1978;  George  R.  Brown, 
July  14,  1977. 

24.  Guy  T.  McBride,  October  24, 
1977;  Thresher.  May  28,  1962;  Com- 
mittee on  Student  Housing  Minutes, 
November  22,  19S4,  Committee  on 
Student  Housing,  vertical  file,  WRC; 
Committee  on  Student  Housing, 
"New  Dimensions  in  Student  Life, 
Reports  of  the  Committee  on  Stu- 
dent Housing,"  September  i,  1956, 
bound  volume  of  reports  in  Fondren 


Library,  Rice  University,  Houston, 
Texas,  1-5.  The  Committee  on  Stu- 
dent Housing  will  be  cited  hereafter 
as  CSH. 

2s.  Guy  T  McBride,  October  24, 
1977;  "New  Dimensions,"  s-<'i- 

26.  Board  Minutes,  May  27,  19s  3, 
June  24,  19s  3;  Guy  T.  McBride,  Oc- 
tober 24,  1977;  "New  Dimensions," 
i-iS. 

27.  The  Book  of  the  Opening. 
i:  164-70. 

28.  Board  Minutes,  September  29, 
1954,  August  25,  1954. 

29.  "New  Dimensions,"  17-22; 
Faculty  Minutes,  October  26,  1954; 
Guy  T  McBride,  October  24,  1977; 
Clara  Mohr  Kotch,  February  10, 
1978;  Board  Minutes,  March  30, 
19s  S;  Houston  to  A.  Whitney  Gris- 
wold,  February  15,  19s  S,  Presidents' 
Papers,  Houston,  Office  Records; 
Houston  to  L.  A.  DuBridge,  February 
IS,  1955,  ibid. 

30.  Report  to  the  faculty  by  the 
CSH,  Faculty  Minutes,  April  21, 

1955- 

31.  CSH  Minutes,  November  22, 
I9S4,  November  29,  1954;  "New  Di- 
mensions," 22-25;  Faculty  Minutes, 
April  21,  1955. 

32.  "New  Dimensions,"  32;  Paula 
Meredith  Mosle,  September  7,  1978. 

33.  "New  Dimensions,"  26-27; 
Faculty  Minutes,  April  21,  1955; 
CSH  Minutes,  February  7,  1955, 
April  I,  1955. 

34.  "New  Dimensions,"  14,  27-28, 
5  3-55- 

35.  "New  Dimensions,"  14,  27-28, 
54-S7. 

36.  "New  Dimensions,"  13-14, 
24-25,  45-48;  CSH  Minutes,  No- 
vember 29,  1954,  January  10,  1955, 
January  17,  1955. 

37.  "New  Dimensions,"  37-41. 

38.  "New  Dimensions,"  67-76. 

39.  After  Mrs.  Dunn  retired,  Daisy 
Coe  became  housemother  along  with 
Mrs.  Morrow.  Paula  Meredith  Mosle, 
September  7,  1978;  Dowden  and 


McBride  to  Houston,  May  2,  1951, 
Presidents'  Papers,  Houston,  Office 
Records;  Meredith  to  Houston,  May 
22,  1957,  ibid.;  Houston  Chronicle. 
July  12,  1948,  May  20,  195 1;  Board 
Minutes,  March  28,  1956,  July  25, 
1956;  Thresher.  September  28,  1951; 
Clara  Mohr  Kotch,  February  10, 
1978. 

40.  "New  Dimensions,"  28-33; 
CSH  Minutes,  February  9,  1955, 
April  I,  1955,  May  6,  1955,  May  16, 
19s 5;  Paula  Meredith  Mosle,  Septem- 
ber 7,  1978;  Board  Minutes,  June  29, 

1 9  S  5 . 

41.  Board  Minutes,  November  30, 
1955,  June  27,  I95''''/  July  25,  1956; 
Houston  Chronicle.  November  17, 
1955;  CSH  Minutes,  February  9, 
195  5;  McBride  to  Houston,  February 
15,  195s,  Presidents'  Papers,  Hous- 
ton, Office  Records;  Will  Rice  Col- 
lege, vertical  file,  WRC. 

42.  Calvin  M.  Class,  January  20, 
1978;  James  Street  Fulton,  September 
30,  1977;  William  H.  Masterson,  Oc- 
tober II,  1977;  Paula  Meredith  Mo- 
sle, September  7,  1978;  Guy  T. 
McBride,  October  24,  1977- 

43.  Thresher,  March  13,  196^,. 

44.  Paula  Meredith  Mosle,  Septem- 
ber 7,  1978;  William  H.  Masterson, 
October  11,  1977;  James  Street 
Fulton,  September  30,  1977;  James  R. 
Sims,  January  18,  1978;  Calvin  M. 
Class,  January  20,  1978;  Respon- 
sibilities and  Interrelations  of 

the  College  Masters,  the  Dean  of 
Women,  and  the  Dean  of  Students, 
April  II,  1963,  Presidents'  Papers, 
Pitzcr,  On  Campus,  1961-1963; 
Thresher.  March  13,  1963. 

45.  Thresher.  April  21,  1961. 

46.  Thresher.  April  21,  i9''ii, 
March  13,  1963;  Statement  on 
Trends  in  the  Colleges  from  Higgin- 
botham,  January  24,  1962,  Presi- 
dents' Papers,  Pitzer,  On  Campus, 

1 961 -1963;  Paul  Burka,  September 
12,  1978;  James  B.  Giles,  September 
6,  1978;  James  Street  Fulton,  Scptem- 


Notes 


233 


ber  30,  1977- 

47.  William  H.  Masterson,  October 
II,  1977;  James  Street  Fulton,  Sep- 
tember 30,  1977;  Calvin  M.  Class, 
January  20,  1978;  James  R.  Sims,  Jan- 
uary 18,  1978;  Thresher,  April  21, 
1961,  March  13,  1963. 

48.  Houston  Post.  October  10, 
1956;  Thresher,  October  8,  1952, 
March  4,  1955,  October  7,  1955,  Oc- 
tober 14,  1955,  February  24,  1956, 
February  17,  1956,  October  12,  1956, 
November  9,  1956,  February  8,  1957, 
October  25,  1957,  February  22,  1957; 
Houston  Chronicle,  October  10, 
1956,  November  4,  1956;  McBride  to 
Jack  Holland,  February  5,  1957,  Presi- 
dents' Papers,  Houston,  Office  Rec- 
ords; McBride  to  Houston,  October 
ID,  1957,  ibid.;  Faculty  Minutes,  May 
10,  1957;  Paula  Meredith  Mosle,  Sep- 
tember 7,  1978;  Nancy  Moore  Eu- 
bank, February  22,  1978;  Jacquelin 
Collins,  September  9,  1978. 

49.  Thresher,  October  31,  1962, 
December  3,  1964;  Houston  Chroni- 
cle, October  14,  1959;  "New  Dimen- 
sions," 48. 

50.  Mike  V.  McEnany  to  Houston, 
May  28,  1953,  Presidents'  Papers, 
Houston,  Office  Records;  Report  to 
the  Executive  Committee  from  the 
Committee  of  Educational  Inquiry, 
May  1953,  ibid.;  Faculty  Minutes, 
March  30,  1953. 

51.  Oral  communication,  Mrs. 
Douglas  Dunlap,  Admissions  Office, 
Rice  University;  Annual  Report  to 
the  President,  Registrar's  Office. 

52.  Report  of  the  Committee  on 
the  Freshman  Course,  October  1953, 
with  the  papers  given  to  the  Rice 
Historical  Commission  by  J.  D. 
Thomas.  The  commission  then  gave 
the  papers  to  the  WRC.  McCann  to 
Houston,  March  29,  1955,  Presidents' 
Papers,  Houston,  Office  Records; 
Statement  of  revised  admission  re- 
quirements and  procedures,  19s  S- 
1956,  ibid.;  Faculty  Minutes,  October 
26,  1954,  May  10,  1957,  June  2,  1955; 


oral  communication,  Mrs.  Douglas 
Dunlap;  Annual  Reports  to  the  Presi- 
dent, Registrar's  Office.  The  Com- 
mittee on  the  Freshman  Course  was 
abolished  in  1955,  and  a  new  com- 
mittee was  appointed  to  study  the 
problem  of  providing  better  oppor- 
tunities for  contact  between  students 
and  faculty. 

53.  Faculty  Minutes,  April  21, 
195s,  February  17,  1956,  May  10, 
1957,  May  29,  1958;  Thresher,  May 
S,  1961. 

54.  Proposals  for  the  Humanities 
Division,  in  Masterson  to  Houston, 
September  23,  1959,  Presidents'  Pa- 
pers, Pitzer,  On  Campus,  196 1- 1963. 

55.  Louise  Johnson,  February  20, 
1978. 

56.  James  B.  Giles,  September  6, 
1978;  Frank  E.  Vandiver,  April  3, 
1978,  April  25,  1978;  George  H. 
Richter,  July  5,  i977,  March  9,  1978; 
Paula  Meredith  Mosle,  September  7, 
1978;  Paul  Burka,  September  12, 
1978;  and  informal  conversations 
with  Hugh  Rice  Kelly  Molly  Kelly 
Myra  Bahme,  Patricia  Teed,  Mary  Fae 
McKay,  Mary  Margaret  Hill,  Kather- 
ine  Drew,  S.  W.  Higginbotham,  Car- 
oline Reynolds,  and  Sam  Stewart. 

57.  Paul  Burka,  September  12, 
1978;  James  B.  Giles,  September  6, 
1978;  Frank  E.  Vandiver,  April  3, 
1978,  April  25,  1978;  Calvin  Class, 
January  20,  1978;  Jacquelin  Collins, 
September  9,  1978;  Paula  Meredith 
Mosle,  September  7,  1978;  and  infor- 
mal conversations  with  those  cited 
in  note  56. 

58.  Some  remember  a  cartoon  from 
the  period  that  showed  a  student, 
dripping  blood,  walking  down  the 
sidewalk  in  front  of  the  Physics 
Building,  with  an  enormous  sword  of 
the  old  Roman  style  stuck  in  his 
back.  Two  other  students  are  watch- 
ing, and  one  says  to  the  other,  "I 
think  he  just  asked  to  change  a 
course."  James  B.  Giles,  September  6, 
1978. 


59- 
1978; 
1978; 
1978. 

60. 
1978. 

61. 
1978; 
1978, 
Septe 

62. 


James  B.  Giles,  September  6, 
Paul  Burka,  September  12, 
Jacquelin  Collins,  September  9, 

George  H.  Richter,  March  9, 

Calvin  M.  Class,  January  20, 
Frank  E.  Vandiver,  April  3, 
April  25,  1978;  James  B.  Giles, 
mber  6,  1978. 
Kenneth  S.  Pitzer,  October  26, 


1977- 

63.  Report  of  the  Committee  on 
the  Freshman  Course,  October  1953, 
WRC;  Report  to  the  Executive 
Committee  from  the  Committee  of 
Educational  Inquiry,  May  1953;  Pres- 
idents' Papers,  Houston,  Office  Rec- 
ords; Mike  V.  McEnany  to  Houston, 
May  28,  1953,  ibid.;  Kenneth  S. 
Pitzer,  October  26,  1977;  James  B. 
Giles,  September  6,  1978;  Jacquelin 
Collins,  September  9,  1978;  Collins 
to  Meiners,  December  14,  1978,  in 
possession  of  the  commission. 

64.  Paul  Burka,  September  12, 
1978;  Jacquelin  Collins,  September  9, 
1978;  and  informal  conversations 
with  Myra  Bahme,  Caroline  Rey- 
nolds, Sam  Stewart,  and  Hugh  Rice 
Kelly 

65.  Paul  Burka,  September  12, 
1978. 

66.  Jacquelin  Collins,  September  9, 
1978;  James  B.  Giles,  September  6, 
1978;  George  H.  Richter,  July  5, 
1977,  March  9,  1978;  and  informal 
conversations  with  S.  W.  Higgin- 
botham, William  H.  Masterson, 
Hugh  Rice  Kelly,  Jacquelin  Collins, 
and  Frank  E.  Vandiver. 

67.  Paul  Burka,  September  12, 
1978;  George  H.  Richter,  March  9, 
1978;  Paula  Meredith  Mosle,  Septem- 
ber 7,  1978;  and  informal  conversa- 
tions with  Myra  Bahme,  Frank 
Vandiver,  Hugh  Rice  Kelly,  Jacquelin 
Collins,  Patricia  Teed,  and  Mary  Fae 
McKay. 

68.  Other  sources  for  this  section 
are  Finis  E.  Cowan,  March  16,  1978; 


234 


Notes 


William  P.  Hobby,  |uly  28,  ly??; 
Nancy  Moore  Eubank,  February  22, 
1978;  Chalmers  M.  Hudspeth,  |uly 
19,  1978;  James  Street  Fulton,  Sep- 
tember 30,  1977;  James  R.  Sims,  Jan- 
uary 18,  1978;  John  E.  Parish, 
September  28,  1977;  Houston  to  W. 

E.  Allen,  February  i,  1955,  Presi- 
dents' Papers,  Houston,  Offiee 
Records. 

69.  Houston  Chronicle.  October 
28,  1950,  November  9,  1950;  January 
II,  1954,  November  10,  1950,  April 
27,  1951,  May  14,  1955,  May  22, 
1953,  November  19,  1954;  Thresher. 
November  10,  1950,  February  23, 
1951,  April  12,  1957,  May  3,  1957, 
December  11,  1959;  Houston  Post, 
May  14,  1955,  November  19,  195  s, 
December  21,  1955;  Jacquelin  Col- 
lins, September  9,  1978;  Gertrude 
Stem,  vertical  file,  WRC;  Houston  to 

F.  Talbott  Wilson,  September  4,  1953, 
Presidents'  Papers,  Houston,  Office 
Records;  Report  of  the  Food  Commit- 
tee, 1950- 19s  I,  Presidents'  Papers, 
Pitzer,  On  Campus,  1 961- 1963.  The 
bust  of  Gertrude  Stein  was  the  work 
of  sculptor  Jacques  Lipchitz. 

70.  Jess  Neely,  October  10,  1977. 

71.  Jess  Neely,  October  10,  1977; 
Football  '77;  Southwest  Conference 
Roster  and  Record  Book,  pp.  61-69, 
157-204;  Basketball  '78:  The  1918 
Southwest  Conference  Roster  and 
Record  Book,  pp.  24-29,  82-88; 
Southwest  Conference  1978  Spring 
Sports  Media  Guide,  pp.  24-36, 
73-76. 


>?.>" 


Chapter  9      .^L'^ 


1.  Board  Minutes,  September  25, 
1957;  George  Holmes  Richter,  July  5, 
1977;  Guy  T.  McBndc,  October  24, 
1977- 

2.  Board  Minutes,  December  16, 
1959,  March  30,  i960,  June  29,  196O; 
Sallyport  16  (January  i960);  Thresher. 
January  16,  i960,  February  26,  i960, 


April  6,  i960,  April  9,  196O;  Houston 
to  Rice  Associates,  February  2,  i960, 
Presidents'  Papers,  Pitzer,  On  Cam- 
pus, 1961-1963;  Houston  Chronicle. 
January  9,  i960,  January  10,  i960, 
April  7,  i960,  April  8,  i960,  April  9, 
1960;  Houston  Post,  January  10, 
i960,  January  18,  196O;  H.  Malcolm 
Lovett,  June  27,  1977. 

3.  Board  Minutes,  September  19, 
i960,  January  25,  1961;  Houston  to 
Faculty,  July  27,  i960.  Presidents' 
Papers,  Pitzer,  On  Campus,  1961- 
1963;  Faculty  Minutes,  lanuary  30, 
1961,  February  20,  1961;  Thresher, 
September  10,  i960,  October  28, 
i960,  September  23,  i960. 

4.  Board  Minutes,  April  26,  1961, 
May  31,  1 96 1;  Mrs.  J.  Newton  Ray- 
zor,  February  8,  1978;  Kenneth  S.  Pit- 
zer, vertical  file,  WRC. 

5.  Board  Minutes,  October  2,  1952, 
September  28,  i960,  September  27, 

1961,  March  28,  1962;  Thresher.  Oc- 
tober 3,  1 96 1;  Houston  Post.  April 
17,  196O;  Masterson  to  Croneis,  June 
7,  1961,  Presidents'  Papers,  Pitzer, 
On  Campus,  1961-1963. 

6.  Faculty  Minutes,  September  28, 
1 96 1;  Pitzer  to  J.  Wallace  Sterling, 
August  31,  1962,  Presidents'  Papers, 
Pitzer,  On  Campus,  196 1- 1963; 
"Call  to  the  Semifrontier,"  Time.  No- 
vember 24,  1961,  clipping  in  Presi- 
dents' Papers,  Pitzer,  On  Campus, 
1961-1963;  "The  Third  President 
Looks  at  Rice,"  Rice  Alumni  Maga- 
zine I  (March  1963),  5 -9;  Houston 
Chronicle.  July  6,  1961;  Thresher. 
September  15,  1961. 

7.  Pitzer  to  Board,  January  25, 

1962,  Presidents'  Papers,  Pitzer,  On 
Campus,  1961-1963;  Report  of  the 
Academic  Planning  Committee  to 
the  President,  December  8,  1961, 
ibid.;  Houston  Chronicle,  December 
21,  1 96 1,  December  22,  1961,  clip- 
pings in  Presidents'  Papers,  Pitzer, 
On  Campus,  1961-1963. 

8.  Houston  Chronicle.  February  4, 
i960,  February  21,  i960,  April  4, 


i960.  May  IS,  i960,  July  24,  i960, 
January  3,  1961,  March  9,  1961,  April 

21,  1961,  August  25,  1961,  Septem- 
ber 19,  1 96 1,  September  24,  1961, 
December  14,  1961,  December  21, 

1961,  December  27,  1961,  January  7, 

1962,  January  18,  1962,  March  23, 
1962,  April  4,  1962,  April  8,  1962, 
April  12,  1962,  May  29,  1962,  June 

22,  1962,  July  19,  1962,  August  23, 
1962,  October  8,  1962;  Houston  Post, 
June  19,  1962;  Houston  Post,  n.d., 
clipping  in  Presidents'  Papers,  Pitzer, 
On  Campus,  1961-1963;  Board  Min- 
utes, August  23,  1961,  October  25, 

1 96 1;  Thresher.  September  19,  1962. 

9.  Houston  Chronicle,  February  10, 

1961,  March  ig,  1961,  November  19, 
1961;  Kenneth  S.  Pitzer,  October  26, 
1977;  Report  of  joint  meeting  of 
members  of  the  faculty  and  of  the 
Board  of  Governors,  November  i  s, 
i960.  Presidents'  Papers,  Houston, 
Office  Records;  Board  Minutes,  May 

23,  1962,  September  27,  1961. 

10.  Board  Minutes,  January  31, 

1962,  February  28,  1962,  April  25, 
1962,  September  27,  1961;  Chancel- 
lor Croneis  thought  that  S20  million 
was  much  too  small  a  sum.  He  sug- 
gested to  Rayzor  that  at  least  875 
million  was  needed  and  that  it  would 
only  be  the  beginning.  The  S20  mil- 
lion would  be  helpful,  but  he  thought 
the  board  should  be  told  "quite 
plainly"  that  even  S7S  million  would 
prove  to  be  entirely  inadequate.  Cro- 
neis to  Rayzor,  February  27,  1962, 
Presidents'  Papers,  Pitzer,  On  Cam- 
pus, 1 96 1 -1963. 

11.  Board  Minutes,  September  27, 
1961,  May  23,  1962,  July  25,  1962, 
September  26,  1962,  February  27, 
1963;  Faculty  Minutes,  June  i,  1962; 
H.  Malcolm  Lovett,  June  27,  1977, 
March  29,  1978;  Kenneth  S.  Pitzer, 
October  26,  1978;  Thresher.  February 
27,  1963,  February  12,  1964,  February 
13,  1964,  February  19,  1964,  February 
26,  1964,  March  11,  1964;  Houston 
Post,  February  22,  1963;  S33  Million 


Notes 


235 


Campaign  Newsletter,  WRC. 

12.  Kenneth  S.  Pitzer,  October  26, 
1978;  Notes  written  in  Pitzer's  hand, 
n.d.,  in  Presidents'  Papers,  Pitzer,  On 
Campus,  1961-1963;  "The  Aca- 
demic Planning  Committee:  Purpose 
and  Program,"  n.d.,  but  stamped 
March  6,  1963,  ibid.;  Academic  Plan- 
ning Committee  Minutes,  January  4, 
1963,  February  11,  1963,  April  29, 
1963,  May  7,  1963,  ibid.;  Progress  Re- 
port of  Academic  Planning  Commit- 
tee, June  4,  1963,  ibid.;  Self-Study  of 
William  Marsh  Rice  University. 
October  i,  1964,  pp.  xii-xx;  Faculty 
Minutes,  March  12,  1963. 

13.  Self-Study,  pp.  4-6;  Thresher, 
October  15,  1964.  The  General  and 
Educational  Budget  for  1978 
amounted  to  $25  million. 

14.  Self -Study,  pp.  9-11;  Faculty 
Minutes,  September  28,  1961;  Memo 
on  role  of  the  Dean  of  Students,  n.d.. 
Presidents'  Papers,  Pitzer,  On  Cam- 
pus, 1961-1963;  Policy  for  Masters, 
Dean  of  Women,  Dean  of  Students, 
April  II,  1963,  ibid.;  Kenneth  S. 
Pitzer,  October  26,  1978;  Frank  E. 
Vandiver,  April  3,  1978;  Report  of 
Academic  Development  Committee, 
December  8,  1961,  Presidents'  Pa- 
pers, Pitzer,  On  Campus,  1961-1963. 

15.  Faculty  Minutes,  April  16, 
1962;  Thresher.  May  12,  1961,  Sep- 
tember 15,  1961,  April  13,  1962. 

16.  Board  Minutes,  lanuary  31, 
1962,  March  28,  1962;  Donald  Mac- 
kenzie to  Masterson,  May  i,  1961, 
Presidents'  Papers,  Pitzer,  On  Cam- 
pus, 1961-1963;  Pitzer  to  Depart- 
ment Chairmen,  March  9,  1962, 
ibid.;  Report  of  Academic  Develop- 
ment Committee,  December  8,  1961, 
ibid.;  Kenneth  S.  Pitzer,  October  26, 
1978;  Frank  E.  Vandiver,  April  3, 
1978. 

17.  Board  Minutes,  November  30, 
ig6i.  May  29,  1963;  Thresher,  Febru- 
ary ID,  1961. 

18.  Board  Minutes,  February  24, 
1960;  Thresher, 


February  26,  i960,  December  16, 
1 96 1;  Houston  Post,  February  26, 
1960;  Houston  Chronicle,  February 
26,  i960,  December  10,  1961. 

19.  Announcements.  1958,  pp. 
69-81;  1961,  pp.  37-46;  1962, 
pp.  36-46;  Faculty  Minutes,  Janu- 
ary 30,  1961,  February  20,  1961, 
April  24,  1 96 1;  Self-Study,  pp. 
70-74;  Thresher.  February  26,  i960, 
April  29,  i960,  September  16,  i960, 
April  28,  1 96 1;  Houston  Chronicle. 
July  24,  i960,  September  11,  i960, 
February  24,  1961,  April  i,  1962; 
Notes  and  minutes  on  meeting  of  di- 
vision of  the  humanities,  March  29, 
i960,  Presidents'  Papers,  Pitzer,  On 
Campus,  1961-1963;  Croneis  to 
Mackenzie,  February  4,  1961,  Presi- 
dents' Papers,  Houston,  Depart- 
ments; Jess  Neely,  October  10,  1977; 
Hubert  E.  Bray,  June  18,  1976,  Sep- 
tember 30,  1976. 

20.  James  B.  Giles,  September  6, 
1978;  Annoimcements,  1961,  p.  33; 
Admissions  policy,  n.d..  Presidents' 
Papers,  Pitzer,  On  Campus,  1961- 
1963;  Thresher,  March  4,  i960.  May 
II,  1962,  September  19,  1962;  Hous- 
ton Chronicle,  September  6,  i960. 

21.  James  B.  Giles,  September  6, 
1978;  Kenneth  S.  Pitzer,  October  26, 
1977;  Admissions  policy,  n.d..  Presi- 
dents' Papers,  Pitzer,  On  Campus, 
1961  -1963. 

22.  "Distribution  of  Grades  in  Se- 
lected Institutions,  Spring  1961," 
Presidents'  Papers,  Pitzer,  On  Cam- 
pus, 1961-1963. 

23.  Mackenzie  to  Pitzer,  February 
25,  1963,  Presidents'  Papers,  Pitzer, 
On  Campus,  1961-1963. 

24.  Thresher,  May  5,  1961,  May  12, 
1 96 1,  February  6,  1963,  February  13, 
1963,  March  13,  1963,  September  24, 
1964;  "Distribution  of  Grades  in  Se- 
lected Institutions,  Spring  1961," 
ibid.;  Subcommittee  on  Program  of 
Undergraduate  Instruction  to  Aca- 
demic Planning  Committee,  n.d., 
ibid.;  Committee  on  Examinations 


and  Standing  to  Pitzer,  March  5, 
1963,  in  Minutes  of  the  Committee 
on  Examinations  and  Standing;  Self- 
Study,  pp.  48-49,  76-78;  James  B. 
Giles,  September  6,  1978;  Paul 
Burka,  September  12,  1978. 

25.  Joint  Meeting  of  Members  of 
the  Faculty  and  of  the  Board  of  Gov- 
ernors, November  15,  i960,  Presi- 
dents' Papers,  Houston,  Office 
Records;  Subcommittee  on  Program 
of  Undergraduate  Instruction  to  Aca- 
demic Planning  Committee,  n.d.. 
Presidents'  Papers,  Pitzer,  On  Cam- 
pus, 1 96 1 -1963;  Academic  Planning 
Committee  Minutes,  April  29,  1963, 
May  7,  1963,  ibid.;  Thresher,  Septem- 
ber 19,  1962,  March  13,  1963,  Febru- 
ary 13,  1963,  September  18,  1963, 
September  24,  1964,  October  i,  1964; 
Houston  Post,  May  12,  1963;  Self- 
Study,  pp.  48-49. 

26.  Thresher,  November  10,  1961, 
September  19,  1962,  October  24, 
1962,  November  28,  1962,  October  8, 
1964;  Houston  Post,  October  22, 
i960,  April  29,  1961,  September  6, 
1962,  December  6,  1962;  Houston 
Chronicle,  September  8,  i960,  Sep- 
tember 25,  i960.  May  10,  1961,  Sep- 
tember 7,  1962,  December  6,  1962, 
December  13,  1962;  Chalmers 
Hudspeth,  July  19,  197B. 

Chapter  10    ^ta<^^^ 

1.  The  Inauguration  of  Kenneth 
Sanborn  Pitzer  and  Semicentennial 
Ceremonies  at  William  Marsh  Rice 
University,  October  10-13,  1962 
(Houston:  Rice  University,  1963),  pp. 
23-25. 

2.  Semicentennial,  vertical  file, 
WRC;  Inauguration  of  Pitzer,  pas- 
sim; Man,  Science,  Learning,  and 
Education,  the  Semicentennial  Lec- 
tures at  Rice  University  (Houston: 
Rice  University,  1963I,  passim. 


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1946- 1964 
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Houston,  Texas  [1891) 
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Butler,  Nicholas  Murray.  Across  the 
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Coon,  Horace.  Columbia:  Colossus 
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Cram,  Ralph  Adams.  My  Life  in 
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Cramer,  Clarence  H.  Case  Western 
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Little,  Brown  &  Co.,  1976. 

Davies,  Debbie.  "Rice  has  been 
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distinguished  Texas  A&M 
University  for  63  years  and  all 
we've  got  to  show  for  it  are  a  few 
bruises — and  many  memories. 
That's  no  joke."  Sallyport  32,  no.  2 
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Davis,  Ellis  A.  and  Grobe,  Edwin  H., 
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Earnest,  Ernest.  Academic 
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Elliott,  Orrin  Leslie.  Stanford 
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Embree,  Elisha  D.  and  Eaton, 
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General  Announcements.  Houston: 
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Hawkins,  Hugh.  Pioneer:  A  History 
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Houston,  William  V.  "Edgar  Odell 
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1977 
Bray,  Gertrude,  January  22,  1976 
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September  30,  1976 
Brown,  George  R.,  July  14,  1977 
Bulbrook,  Harry  M.,  October  28, 

1977 
Burka,  Paul,  September  12,  1978 
Camden,  Carroll,  September  20, 

1977 
Chapman,  Allen,  September  30,  1977 
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Collins,  Jacquclin,  September  9,  1978 
Cowan,  Finis  E.,  March  16,  1978 
Davis,  Joe  W,  February  21,  1978 
Dwyer,  C.  A.,  luly  26,  1977 
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Erfurth,  August,  September  20,  1977 
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1978 
Filson,  Martha,  February  19,  1976 
Fuermann,  George,  August  s,  1977 
Fulton,  James  Street,  September  30, 

1977 
Gallegley,  Joseph  I..  October  26,  1976 
Giles,  lames  B.,  September  6,  1978 
Hartsook,  Arthur  J.,  luly  21,  1977 
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February  3,  1978 
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February  20,  1978,  March  27,  1978 
Johnson,  Marguerite,  August  s,  1977 
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February  10,  1978 
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Pitzer,  Kenneth  Sanborn,  October  26, 

1977 
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Whitmore,  William,  January  19,  1978 


INDEX 


AAUP.  See  American  Association  of 

University  Professors 
Abercrombic  Engineering  Laboratory, 

153 
Abercrombie,  James  S,,  143 
Academic  calendar,  102,  1^,4,  13s, 

159 
Academic  freedom,  resolution  on,  87 
Accelerator,  173 
Accounting  system,  171 
Adams,  |ohn  A.  S.,  172 
Administration,  60,  79,  82,  83,  89, 

94,  106,  115,  119,  122,  134,  140, 

170-73,  183,  203,  209 
Administration  Building,  21,  29-36, 
65,  66,  88,  99,  144 

cornerstone  of,  42-43 
Admissions,  140,  203 

director  of,  161,  171,  206 

procedures  for,  148,  206-7 

racial  discrimination  in,  201 

requirements  for,  48,  63,  89,  92, 
148-49,  189 
Adviser  to  women,  50,  122,  163,  171, 

181,  182,  203 
Akers,  William  W.,  149 
Albaugh,  Reuben,  106 
Alborn,  Ray,  195 
Alexander,  lay,  80 
All- American  players,  130,  167 
All-Conference  players,  130,  16s,  i9S 
Allen,  Herbert,  169,  179 
Alpha  Rho  club,  1 15 
Altenburg,  Edgar,  95,  96,  98,  108,  124 
Alumni,  136,  161,  197,  201 

magazine  of,  no 

See  also  Association  of  Rice 
Alumni;  Sallyport 
American  Association  of  University 

Professors,  204 


American  Association  of  University 

Women,  1 1 7 
Amerman,  A.  E.,  85 
Anderson,  Clayton  &  Co.,  108,  137, 

143 
Anderson  Hall,  153,  205 
Anderson,  M.  D.,  1 5  3 

Foundation,  136,  137,  173 
Andrews,  Forrest  Lee,  106 
Angel,  John,  125 
Announcements.  General.  69,  72, 

115,  149,  161,  171,  206 
Arbuckle,  Philip  H.,  45,  S3,  S7,  103 
Archi-Arts,  1 10 
Architect,  selection  of,  2S 

See  also  Cram,  Goodhue  and 
Ferguson;  Cram  and  Ferguson; 
Harvin  C.  Moore;  Pierce  and 
Pierce;  Staub  and  Rather; 
William  Ward  Watkin 
Architectural  plan,  18 
Architectural  Society,  iio 
Architecture 

campus,  25 

degree  in,  61 

department  of,  171,  200 

program  in,  4  s 

students  in,  52,  62 

women  in,  206 
Army,  U.  S.,  70 
Arthur,  Percy,  1 30 
Assistant  to  the  president,  position 

of,  171 
Associate  professor,  rank  of,  149 
Association  of  Rice  Alumni,  1 17, 

136,  138,  140,  144,  150,  162,  17s, 

2 1 s ,  216 
Athletes,  93,  186,  206 
Athletic  Association,  119,  121,  is6 
Athletic  Department,  los,  120,  129 


Athletics,  45,  53,  56,  60,  80,  100, 
103,  129-32,  203 

business  manager  for,  105-6,  119, 
129 

director  of,  103,  106,  129 

expenditures  for,  105 

recruiting  in,  104- s 

See  also  names  of  individual 
athletic  activities 
Atom  bombardment  machine,  125 
Atomic  Energy  Commission 

Fellowships,  170 
Auden,  fohn  H.,  172 
Auditorium.  See  Hamman  Hall 
Autry  Court,  i  s6 
Autry  House,  132,  169 
Autry,  Mrs.  James  L.,  108,  156 
Axson  Club,  85 
Axson,  Stockton,  57,  61,  64,  66,  70, 

82,  108,  123 
Aycock,  Joseph  W.,  70-71 

BVD  Co.  See  Company  BVD 
Baccalaureate  ceremonies,  66 
Bailey,  Karl,  187 
Baker,  Captain  James  A.  See  Baker, 

James  Addison,  Jr. 
Baker  College,  183,  187 
Baker,  James  Addison,  Jr.,  3,  11, 

13-14,  19,  42,  60,  77,  81,  82,  8s, 
9S,  104,  108,  119,  120,  121,  13s, 
136 
James  A.  Baker  and  Alice  Graham 
Baker  Bequest,  136 
Baly  E.  C.  C,  99 
Band,  52,  128,  157,  203 

See  also  Marching  Owl  Band 
Banks  Street,  apartments  on,  181 
Baseball,  56 
Basketball,  56,  103,  167,  i9S 


242. 


Index 


Battista,  Joseph  L.,  123 
Beer-Bikc  Race,  iSs,  209 
Bell,  Calvin,  1 31 
Bell,  H.  Le  Roy,  80 
Bender,  Eugene  L.,  121 

Bender  Bequest,  i  s  5 
Bequests,  121,  122,  136,  138,  143, 

150,  153,  IS6,  1^18,  169,  193,  200, 

20s 
Billups,  Val  T.,  201 
Biology  building,  173 
Biology,  program  in,  46 
Biology  students,  organization  of,  52 
Blaffer,  Robert  Lee,  119,  137,  193 
Blagg,  loe,  1 3 1 
Blake,  Mrs.  Eugene  C,  1 10 
Blake,  Tommy  106 
Blanshard,  Brand,  213 
Blayney,  Thomas  Lindsey,  4s,  63,  ('■14, 

70,  96,  1 1 3 
"Blue  Danube."  Sec  Harris  Gully 
Bluebonnct  Bowl,  194 
Board.  See  Board  of  Governors;  Board 

of  Trustees 
Board  of  Governors,  169,  173,  196, 

201,  204,  213,  218 
Board  of  Trustees,  i,  3,  14,  is,  16,  18, 

44,  60,  83,  84,  87,  88,  91,  94,  104, 

106,  IIS,  119,  120,  134,  136,  137, 

138,  140-41,  142-43,  146,  153, 

168-69,  201,  216,  217 
Bonner  Nuclear  Lab,  123 
Bonner,  Tom,  123,  173 
Bookstore,  17s 
Boone,  Walter,  106 
Borel,  Emilc,  3,  21s 
Bourgeois,  Andre,  95 
Bracey,  Claude,  106 
Brannon,  Buster,  131,  167,  19s 
Bray  Hubert,  31,  S9,  122,  123,  160, 

204,  21 3 
British  educational  mission,  98 
Bronson,  Bertrand  H.,  214 
Brotzen,  Franz,  172 
Brown,  George  R.,  137-3*^,  i39,  141, 

153,  169,  178,  216 
Brown,  Herman,  137 
Brown  &.  Root,  137,  i  s  3 
Browne,  Charles  L.,  123 
Browne,  Frederic  W.,  123 


Brownsville  Terminal,  i  37 
Bryan,  Andrew,  172 
Brunson,  Emmett,  106,  130 
Budget,  60,  65,  94,  IDS,  119.  120, 

122,  140,  168,  198 
Bullard,  Daniel  R.,  169 
Burchard,  [ohn  E.,  iso 
Burrell,  [ohn,  19s 
Bursar,  position  of,  83,  171 
Business  administration,  course  in, 

83 

Cabinet,  college,  181 
Cadet  corps,  70 
women's,  73 
Cafeteria,  175 
Cain,  Otta  L.,  71 
Caldwell,  Robert  G.,  _s8,  64,  83,  8s, 

92,  9S,   108,   114,    IIS,   I  Ki,    121,    122 

Camden,  Carroll,  123,  172 
Cameron,  Hugh  Scott,  146,  149,  162, 

170 
Camp  Funston,  70 
Campanile  (smokestack),  36,  s2,  187 
Campanile  [yearbook],  52,  80,  121, 

183,  187 
Carswell,  Frank,  131 
de  Carvalho,  Carlos  Delgado,  12  s 
Case,  Lynn  M.,  123 
Catalog,  official.  See 

Announcements.  General 
Caudill,  William,  204 
Cawthon,  Pete,  103 
Cazamian,  Louis,  99 
Chaille  Rice  Literary  Society,  163 
Chancellor,  position  of,  198 
Chandler,  Asa  C,  9s,  96,  1 1 3 
Chapel,  169 

See  also  Rice  Memorial  Student 
Center 
Chapman,  Alan  ].,  149,  198 
Chapman,  Richard,  19s 
Charter,  11,  15-16,  64,  92,  9s,  136, 

I  so,  196,  200,  201 
Chatham,  Lee,  128 
Cheerleaders,  112,  129,  162 
Chemistry  Building,  88,  144,  iso, 

200 
Chillman,  fames  H.,  204,  21 3 
Chitwood,  Ben,  106 


Choral  Club,  S2 

Chrismann,  Harry,  131 

Christopher,  Bill,  167 

Class,  Calvin,  172,  183 

Clayton,  Will  L.,  108 

Cleveland,  A.  S.,  47,  119,  1 36,  1 39, 

143 
"Cloister  courses,"  so 
Gloss,  Bill,  167 
Clubs 

exclusive,  prohibition  against, 
SO-SI,    IIS 

jurisdiction  of,  162 
See  also  names  of  individual 
organizations 
Coaches.  See  names  of  individual 

sports  or  people:  Salaries 
Coates,  Thomas  L.,  71 
Coffee,  lohn  B.,  201 
Coffman,  Harry,  167 
Cohen,  Agnes,  100 
Cohen,  George  S.,  100 
Cohen  House,  100,  141,  144 
Cohen,  Robert  I.,  100 
Cohn,  Arthur  B.,  120,  122 
Coleman,  J.  R,  80 
College  Entrance  Examination  Board, 

tests  of,  63,  161,  189,  206 
College  Nights,  181,  186 
College  system,  178-87,  193,  195, 
209 
English,  los,  178 
Colleges.  See  names  of  individual 

colleges 
Colors,  official,  37,  42 
Commencement,  66,  70,  9s,  154, 

135,  157,  197 
Committees 
Board  of  Trustees  (Governorsl 
Alumni  and  Student  Activity, 

169 
Building,  168 

Buildings  and  Grounds,  169 
Development,  I70,  17S 
Faculty,  Student,  and  Alumni, 

197,  200,  201 
Finance,  139,  168,  169 
Loans,  139 
Oil,  169 
Survey,  1 39 


Index 


2.43 


Alumni 

Executive,  197 
Faculty 
Academic  Development,  198, 

203,  204 
Academic  Planning,  202,  207-8, 

209 
Admissions,  89,  149,  189,  206 
Coordination  of  Freshmen,  160 
Course  of  Study  and  Schedules, 

64 
Curriculum,  61,  64 
Educationallnquiry,  179,  188, 

189,  190 
Entrance  Examinations,  64,  89, 

92 
Examinations  and  Standing,  106, 

160,  161,  190,  208 
Executive,  146,  147,  171,  i73, 

188 
Faculty  Council,  173 
Freshman  Course,  160,  161,  189 
Graduate  Instruction,  146,  149 
Honors  Courses  and  Advanced 

Degrees,  106 
Library,  64,  65,  146 
Library  Buildings,  150 
Military,  74,  75,  77,  82 
Non-Athletic  Organizations,  64 
Outdoor  Sports,  64,  103,  106, 

129,  130,  146,  171 
Recommendations,  64 
Student  Activities,  146,  162 
Student  Advisors,  64 
Faculty-Student 
Student  Housing,  17s,  i79,  181, 
183,  184,  187 
Commons,  4,  36,  50,  59,  60,  112, 

144,  183 
Company  BVD,  73 
Company  B-D.  See  Company  BVD 
Compton,  Karl  T.,  144 
Conklin,  Edwin  Grant,  99 
Cooper  Union,  16 
Cope,  lackson,  172 
Cotton  Bowl,  130,  132,  167,  194,  I9S 
Cox,  |ohn  W.,  200 
Craig,  Hardin,  Ir.,  149,  161 
Cram,  Ralph  Adams,  25.  See  also 
Cram,  Goodhue  and  Ferguson; 


Cram  and  Ferguson 
Cram  and  Ferguson,  108,  150 
Cram,  Goodhue  and  Ferguson,  45 
Crane,  Charles  I.,  82 
Croneis,  Carey,  171,  197,  198,  202, 

204,  213 
Crookston,  Robert,  9  s 
Cullen,  Hugh  R.,  137 
Cummins,  Bill,  167 
Curie,  Pierre,  42 
Curriculum,  48,  49,  61-62,  63,  102, 

124,  135,  140,  147-48,  IS 9,  160, 

168,  188,  189,  193,  202,  204-s, 

208 
Curtis,  Bobby,  167 

Dallas  Morning  News,  197 
Darnell,  Percy  ].,  45,  46,  56- S7,  64, 

96,  124 
Darwin,  Charles,  42 
Davies,  loseph  Ilott,  58,  123 
Davis,  loe,  167 
Davis,  Sam  H.,  172 
Davis,  W.  R.,  137 
Dean,  Alice  Crowell,  65,  98,  150 
Dean 

of  the  Institute  (university),  83, 
lis,  12.2,  146,  173,  203 

of  engineering,  173 

of  graduate  studies,  203 

of  humanities,  173,  190 

of  student  activities,  163 

of  students,  170,  i8s,  186,  203 

of  women,  i8s,  203 
DcBremaecker,  lean-Claude,  204 
Debts,  prohibition  against,  24,  137, 

217 
Degrees,  ii'7,  139 

advanced,  61,  63,  64,' 139,  149,  173. 
204 

publication  requirements  for, 
63-64 

bachelor's,  61,  66,  107,  134,  139, 
147,  148,  208 

engineering,  61,  62 

honorary,  100 
Departments 

chairmen  of,  171-72 

organization  of,  60-61 
DePrato,  Edwin,  103 


Depression.  See  Great  Depression 

Dessler,  Alexander,  204 

Devane,  William  C,  141 

Dewey,  |ohn,  99 

Dial,  Buddy,  195 

Dickey,  lames,  172 

Diplomas,  66 

Discipline,  responsibility  for,  180, 

184 
Dix,  Charles  H.,  123 
Dodd,  William  E.,  99 
Dodge,  H.  T,  80 
Doherty  Robert  P.,  169 
Donoho,  Paul,  204 
Dormitories.  See  Residence  halls 
Dowden,  Betty  Rose,  163,  171,  181 
Dramatic  Club,  no,  128,  193 
Drew,  Katherme  Fischer,  149 
DuBndge,  Lee  A.,  141,  144 
Dunaway  lames  K.,  149 
Dunn,  Margaret,  181 
DuPont  Co.,  170 
Dwyer,  C.  A.,  122 
Dyer,  Eddie,  103,  130 

EBLS.  See  Elizabeth  Baldwin  Literary 

Society 
East  Hall,  36,  60,  180,  183 

athletes  in,  105 

See  also  Baker  College 
Easton,  Thomas  B.,  88 
Education,  higher,  experiments  in,  62 
Edwards,  Edgar  O.,  202,  204 
Edwards,  Lyford  P.,  84,  85,  125 
Edwards,  William  F.,  45,  223nss 
Eisenhower,  Dwight  D.,  193,  210, 

212 
Elizabeth  Baldwin  Literary  Society, 

SI,  IIS 
Embree,  Elisha  D.,  88         ^    ^^ 
Endowed  chairs,  i6g^^  '"'  ' 
Endowment,  I4,''l8,  19,  23-24,  60, 

88,  90,  95,  108,  119,  122,  136,  137, 

201,  203 
Engineering,  4s,  57,  92,  139 

students  in,  62 
Engineering  laboratory,  143.  See  also 

Ryon  Laboratory 
Engineering  quadrangle,  plans  for,  28 
Engineering  Society,  52,  no,  127, 

157-58,  164 


244 


Index 


Engineers,  naval,  i  u 
English 

department  ot,  149 

program  in,  4s 
English  Zero,  102 
Enrollment,  139 

increase  in,  88,  198 

limiting,  91,  9^ 

total,  IS9 
Entrance  examinations.  (Sv  90,  149, 

189.  See  aha  College  Entrance 

Examination  Board 
Erturth,  Augie,  167 
Eubank,  Nancy  Moore,  171 
Evans,  Griffith  C,  4s,  S9,  C-'i,  (>4.  '"''S, 

70,  96,  108,  123,  198 
Evolution,  human,  83 
Ewing,  William  Maurice,  21s 

Faculty 

meetings  of,  64,  146 

number  of,  1^9,  140,  146,  16S 

organization  of,  22,  61 

retirement  plan  for,  149 

salaries  of.  See  salaries,  faculty 
Faculty  associates,  180,  185-8(1 
Faculty  Chamber,  4,  36,  47 
Faculty  club,  100.  See  aho  Cohen 

House 
Failures,  student,  48,  62,  los,  iS9, 

160,  161,  191,  192,  203 
Falconer,  Robert,  12  s 
Farish,  S.  P.,  137 
Parish,  Will  S.,  108,  137 
Fendley  Francis  T.,  169 
Field  House,  88,  102,  120,  12s,  i  sc^ 
Finances,  94-95,  120,  135,  139 
Fine  arts,  department  of,  200 
Finger,  Joe,  131 

"Fireside  of  Rice."  See  Autry  House 
Fisher,  Ronnie,  195 
Fisk,  lames,  141 

Fleming,  Lamar,  Ir.,  108,  143,  169 
Flying  Owh.  The.  88,  89,  90 
Fondren,  Ella  F.,  143,  150 
Fondrcn  Library,  28,  121,  153 
Fondren,  Walter  W.,  108 
Food  service,  59,  74,  112-13   See 

also  Commons 
Football,  48,  53,  82,  88,  103,  106, 
129,  130,  142,  187,  194,  21'^ 


highest  score  in,  s  3 
Ford  Foundation,  i7o,  202,  205 
Foust,  Art,  195 
Fowler,  Robert,  1 3 1 
Fox,  Betty  jean,  162 
Frankie,  lohn,  195 
Fraternities,  prohibition  against,  51. 

115,  163,  180 
Frazier,  loseph,  71,  73,  78 
French  mission  to  universities,  98, 

125 
Freshman  class 

hazing  of,  1 14-15 

preparation  of,  63,  89 

size  of,  89,  90,  148 
Freund,  Max,  95 
Fulton,  Farrell,  164 
Fulton,  lames  Street,  149,  183 
Fund  raising,  169,  198,  200,  201,  218 

Galambos,  Louis,  204 
Gallegly,  loseph,  95 
Garden  party,  first,  66 
Garfield,  L.  E.,  169 
Geddes,  Auckland,  99 
Geology 

endowed  chair  in,  1 69 

department  of,  169,  171 

laboratory  for,  173 
Giles,  lames  B.,  149,  171,  206 
Girard  College,  16 
Giroski,  Paul,  167 
Glascock,  Clyde  C,  58 
Glennan,  Keith,  215,  216 
Godwin  Lectureship  on  Public 

Affairs,  99 
Goethe  Verein,  52 
Golden  Years,  216 
Goldston,  Walter  L.,  169 
Golf  team,  106 
Goode,  William  losiah,  129 
Grading  system,  62 
Graduate  Record  Examination,  149 
Graduate  school,  198 
Graduate  studies,  25,  142,  146,  195, 

198,  208 
Graduation,  requirements  for,  1 34 
Graham,  Ruth  McLain,  216 
Graham,  Shad,  216 
Graham  Baker  Student,  81 
Grand  Ballroom,  175 


Grants,  170,  202 

Graustein,  William  C,  58,  64,  74, 

77-78 
Great  Depression,  95,  119,  195,  2i7 
Great  War.  See  World  War  I 
Greenwood,  loe,  106 
Greer,  Nelson,  106 
Griffis,  LeVan,  173,  197 
Grob,  Alan,  204 
Guerard,  Albert  L.,  57,  61,  64,  66,  67, 

96,  113 
Guernsey,  Frank,  131 
"Guidance."  See  Hazing 
Gymnasium,  29,  156,  168.  See  also 

Autry  Court 

Hadamard,  lacques,  99 

Hall  Committee,  50,  53,  115,  121, 

184 
Haltom,  Lee,  71 
Hamman  Foundation,  173 
Hamman  Hall,  173,  209 
Hansen,  Fred,  195 
Hanszen  College,  183,  187.  See  also 

West  Hall 
Hanszen,  Harry  Clay,  137,  139,  i4V 

168,  169 
Hargrove,  Iim,  157 
Hargrove,  Marion,  157 
Hams,  Chick,  167 
Harris  Gully  27,  127,  i53 
Harry  Clay  Hanszen  College.  See 

Hanszen  College 
Hartsook,  Arthur  ].,  95,  217 
Hawes,  Raymond  P.,  82 
Hawley  I.  W.,  85,  87 
Hazing,  53,  II 3- 1 5,  116,  126,  127, 

159,  164,  187 
Health  and  physical  education, 

department  of,  206.  See  also 

Physical  education,  department  of 
Heaps,  Claude,  48,  58,  59,  n^,  124, 

150,  160 
Heisman,  lohn  W.,  104-6,  112,  116, 

123,  129 
Hell  Week,  164-65,  187 
Hemphill,  Rosalie,  no 
Henry,  Bill,  167 
Hermann,  George  W.,  26 
Hermann  Park,  SS,  114 
Herting,  E.  W.,  Ir.,  los 


Index 


245 


Hess,  Jake,  121,  131 
Hess,  Wilbur,  i  ji 
Hewitt,  Bowe  Davis,  127 
Higginbotham,  Sanford,  186,  203, 

204 
Hill,  Albert  Ross,  17,  18 
Hill,  King,  19s 
Hinckley,  Bert,  103 
History,  endowed  chair  in,  169 
Hjertberg,  Ernie,  129 
Hodges,  John  E.,  149 
Hofheinz,  Roy,  i  37 
Hogg,  Will,  9S 
Hohenthal,  Lionel,  81 
Hohcnthal  Scholar,  81 
Hole,  Frank,  204 
Holt,  Orren,  12,  13 
Homecoming,  102,  153,  193,  216 
Honor  Code,  129 
Honor  Council,  so,  81,  121,  128 
Honor  societies,  national,  127.  See 

also  Phi  Beta  Kappa 
Honor  system,  so 
Honors  course,  61-62 
Houston  Chronicle.  49,  83,  86,  98, 

127 
Houston,  city  of,  i,  2,  29,  218 
Houston  Endowment,  Inc.,  182 
Houston  Ministers'  Alliance,  83-84 
Houston  Philosophical  Society,  loo 
Houston  Post,  18,  S3,  8s,  86,  9s 
Houston  Press,  12s,  194 
Houston,  William  Vermillion,  142, 

143,  144-46,  149,  161,  163,  170, 

171,  173,  174,  179,  183,  184,  193, 

197,  198,  203,  204,  213,  216,  218 
Howton,  Bill,  19s 
Hudson,  John,  195 
Hughes,  Arthur  L.,  S7,  S9,  70,  94 
Humanities,  61,  173,  190,  204,  207, 

218 
Humble  Oil  &  Refining  Co.,  stock 

in,  143 
Humble,  Weldon,  167 
Humphrey,  Herbert  K.,  s8 
Huxley,  Julian  S.,  4,  46,  s7,  S9,  61, 

70,  83,  99,   124,   I2S 

Memories,  63 

Illig,  Carl,  106 

Inauguration  ceremonies,  143,  21s 


Indenture,  deed  of,  11,  201 

Inflation,  94 

"Institute"  (term),  18,  24,  196,  197, 

218.  See  also  Rice  Institute 
Inter-College  Council,  183,  i8s 
Intramural  sports,  102,  13s 
Investments,  119,  137,  140,  169,  218 
Isle,  Walter,  204 
Ivy,  lohn,  169 

lames  A.  Baker  College.  See  Baker 
College 

lohn.  Marguerite,  80 

lohnson,  Francis  E.,  4  s 

Johnson,  Gaylord,  ios-6,  129,  130, 
131 

Johnson,  Kosse,  195 

von  Johnson,  Kurt,  133 

Johnston,  Robert,  19  s 

Jones,  Charles,  13-14 

Jones  College,  182 

Jones,  Henry,  99 

Jones,  Jesse  H.,  108,  144 

Jones,  Mrs.  Jesse  H.  See  Mary  Gibbs 
Jones 

Jones,  Mary  Gibbs,  182-83 

Jordan,  David  Starr,  66 

Journal  of  Southern  History,  172 

Journals,  6  s 
See  also  Journal  of  Southern 
History-,  Rice  Institute 
Pamphlet:  Rice  University 
Studies:  Studies  in  English 
Literature 

Jungman,  Frank,  80 

Kalb,  Hildegarde  Elizabeth,  si,  S2 

Kalb,  Ervin  F.,  52,  117 

Keith-Wiess  Geological  Laboratories, 

173 
Kelley,  Allie  Autry,  is6 
Kennedy,  John  F.,  212 
Kilpatrick,  John,  149 
King,  Boyd,  19s 
King,  Rufus,  19s 
Kinney,  Bob,  131,  167 
Kirby  John  H.,  108 
Kirkland,  William  A.,  143 
Kittredge,  George  Lyman,  12  s 
Kitts,  Jimmy,  129,  132 
Knapp,  Carl  M.,  136,  138,  144 


Kobayashi,  Riki,  172 
Kolenda,  Konstantin,  172 
Kotch,  Clara  Margaret  Mohr,  171, 
180 

Lady  Geddes  Prize,  99 

Lance,  Don,  19s 

Landre,  Louis,  214 

Lane,  Sarah,  65,  73,  122,  171,  182 

Lankford,  Raymond,  164 

Lassig,  Oswald,  42 

Lear,  Floyd  Seyward,  83,  9s,  217 

Lecturers,  visiting,  98,  125 

Lectures,  public,  57,  96.  See  also 
University  Extension  Lectures 

Lectureships,  81,  169 

Lee's  Owls,  129 

Leifeste,  A.  A.,  Jr.,  149 

Leland,  Thomas  W,  202 

Leon  Springs,  70,  72 

Leray,  Jean,  2 1  s 

Les  Hiboux,  s2 

de  Lesseps,  Ferdinand,  42 

Letscher,  Ed,  i  31 

Levi-Civita,  T.,  12s 

Lewis,  Edward  S.,  149 

Liberal  arts.  See  Humanities 

"Librarian"  (title),  iso 

Library,  is,  31,  64-6S,  68,  121,  140, 
141,  143,  ISO,  168,  173,  203 
budget  for,  6s,  120,  200 
director  of,  i  so 
expansion  of,  200,  202 
location  of,  6  s 

Lillard,  Roy  E.,  71 

Lindsey,  Marion,  103 

Lingle,  Roy  P.,  s7 

Link,  J.  W,  108 

Literary  Council,  163 

Literary  societies,  51,  ns,  129,  159, 
163,  182,  193,  209.  See  also  names 
of  nidividual  organizations 

Lombardi,  Cesar  M.,  11,  14- is,  119 

Lovett,  Adelaide,  4s 

Lovett,  Edgar  Odell,  i,  17-23,  2S,  44, 
48,  49,  50,  58,  60,  66,  70,  78,  82, 
83,  87,  94,  100,  1 10,  1 18,  1 19,  120, 
122,  123,  124,  125,  129,  130,  134, 
136,  139,  141,  143,  144,  14.S,  159, 
167,  171,  178,  19s,  196,  197,  203, 
217,  218 


246 


Index 


Lovett,  Mrs.  Edgar  Odcll.  Sec  Mary 

Ellen  Lovett 
Lovett  Hall,  146,  iso,  iy6,  216.  .St-t- 

also  Administration  Building 
Lovett,  Henry  Malcolm,  4v  197,  2M 
Lovett,  Laurence  Alexander,  4  s 
Lovett,  Mary  Ellen,  21,  22,  4s,  sy 
Loewenheim,  Francis,  204 
Lowe,  Alma  L.,  205 
Lummis,  Frederick  R.,  M.  D.,  14  v 

169 

McAshan,  lames  E.,  11,  is,  i'\  44, 

119 
McBride,  Guy  T.,  149,  170,  itS,  179, 

182,  187 
McCann,  Samuel  G.,  s8,  S^j,  92,  129, 

14s,   161,   171,   189,   197,  217 

McCants,  lohn  T.,  4,  4s,  S7,  60,  74, 
76,  82,  83,  108,  112,  119,  121,  129, 

131,    14s,    171,   217 

McCauley,  lohn,  1 30 
McClenahan,  Howard,  17-18 
McEnany,  Michael,  171 
Mackenzie,  Donald,  198,  204,  208 
Mackey,  Louis,  202 
McKillop,  Alan  D.,  9s,  12s,  141.  i4''\ 

197,  204,  213,  217 

MacLane,  Gerald  R.,  149 
McNeely,  Holmes,  193 
McVey,  William  M.,  153 
Maegle,  Dicky,  19  s 
Maeterlinck,  Maurice,  99 
Magee,  I.  W.,  167 
Malmberg,  Charles,  16  s 
Manaker,  Fred  R,  71 
Mandelbrojt,  Szolem,  99,  149 
Mann,  Leslie,  103 
Marching  Owl  Band,  19  v  See  also 

Band 
Markham,  lames  R,  52 
Marsh,  Thad,  i7i,  172 
Martino,  Tony,  60,  129,  1^9 
Mary  Ellen  Lovett  Literary  Society, 

163 
Mary  Gibbs  lones  College  for 

Women.  See  Jones  College 
Masters,  college,  180,  182,  183,  i8s 
Masterson,  Harris,  Ir.,  108 

endowed  chair  in  memory  of,  169 


Masterson,  William  H.,  149,  171, 

173,  1*^3,  1S4,  197 
Math  100,  48,  so,  90,  102,  108,  147, 

160,  189,  193,  20s,  208 
Mathematics 

department  of,  45,  102,  149 

graduate  programs  in,  200 

majors  in,  148 
Matriculation,  47 
Matriculation  address,  47-48 
May  Fete,  iio,  127,  is 7,  162 
Mead,  Margaret,  21s 
Meagher,  lack,  106,  129 
Mechanical  Laboratory,  36,  58 
Memories.  See  Huxley,  lulian 
Menorah  Society,  si,  84 
Merwin,  lohn,  172 
Meyer,  Henrich  K.  E.  M.,  12s,  13s 
Military,  routine  of,  1 3  s 
Miller,  I.  R,  127 
Miller,  Ralph,  130 
Mills,  Maurine,  80 
Monsanto,  grants  from,  170 
Moore,  Harvin  C,  136,  174 
Moraud,  Marcel,  9s,  108 
Morehead,  lames,  Ir.,  149,  i7i 
Monson,  Samuel  Eliot,  125 
Morris,  Dick,  131 
Morrow,  Clara,  181 
Morse,  Philip  M.,  141 
Moseley,  Dale,  19s 
Mosle,  Paula  Meredith,  171,  180,  181 
Muir,  Andrew  Forest,  36,  129,  172 
Mailer,  Hermann  ].,  s8 
Murphy  Ralph,  167 
Music,  school  of,  169.  5ee  also 

Shepherd  School  of  Music 

NASA.  See  National  Aeronautics  and 

Space  Administration 
NROTC.  See  Naval  Reserve  Officers' 

Training  Corps 
Nathan,  William  Max,  52 
National  Aeronautics  and  Space 

Administration,  200 
National  Collegiate  Athletic 

Association,  104,  los 
Naval  Reserve  Officers'  Training 

Corps,  127,  134,  13s,  203 
Navy,  U.  S.,  13s,  146,  161,  i6s 


Neely,  less  Claiborne,  132,  142,  is 6, 

i6s,  167,  194 
Nelson,  William,  172 
Nevins,  Allan,  214 
Nicholas,  Henry  O.,  9s,  129,  130 
Nielsen,  Niels,  172 
Nonsectanamsm,  is,  27,  84,  174 
Norbeck,  Edward.  204 
Nunn,  Stayton,  12^ 

OWLS.  See  Owen  Wister  Literary 

Society 
Olga  Keith  Literary  Society,  163 
Oliver,  Henry,  136 
Opening  ceremonies,  i-io,  21,  23, 

43,  212,  21  s 
Orange  Bowl,  167 
Orientation,  freshman,  187,  190 
Orphans' institute,  11 
Owen,  Mrs.  Kenneth  Dale,  193 
Owen  Wister  Literary  Society,  s  i, 

116 
Owl  Literary  Society  [Debating 

Club),  SI,  IIS 
Owl,  the  (store),  108 
Owls,  the  (team  name),  S3 

PALS.  See  Pallas  Athene  Literary 

Society 
Pallas  Athene  Literary  Society,  si, 

IIS 
Palmer  Memorial  Church,  no 
Pamphlet.  Rice  Institute.  See  Rice 

Institute  Pamphlet 
Parish,  lohn,  i7i 
Parker,  |im,  19s 
Parsons,  David,  172,  173 
Pat  Quinn's  Rice  Owls  Orchestra, 

129 
Patrick,  Albert  T,  13-14 
Patterson,  Charles  H.,  71 
Pattie,  Frank  A.,  jr.,  9s,  124-2S 
Peden,  Edward  A.,  119 
Perkins,  Sallie  Shepherd,  169 
Pershing,  K'hn  |.,  98-99 
Peyre,  Henri  M.,  21  s 
Pfeifter,  Paul  E.,  149 
Phi  Beta  Kappa,  118,  127 
Phi  Lambda  Upsilon,  117,  127 
Phillips,  Gerald  C,  149,  198 


Index 


247 


Philosophy  and  rehgious  thought, 

endowed  chair  in,  169 
Physical  education 

program  in,  106 

degree  in,  107,  124 

department  of,  102,  106,  124,  is6 

majors  in,  148 

See  also  Health  and  physical 
education,  department  of 
Physics  amphitheater,  60,  124,  173 
Physics  Building,  60,  146,  150 
Physics,  department  of,  96 
Pi  Delta  Phi,  127 
Pickard,  |ohn  B.,  172 
Pierce,  George  R,  |r.,  173 
Pierce  and  Pierce,  173 
Pitzer,  Kenneth  Sanborn,  185,  192, 

197-200,  201,  202,  203,  204,  208, 

209,  215,  216,  218 
Plan,  architectural,  28 
Poem,  inaugural,  5 
Pollard,  William  G.,  215 
Potter,  David  M.,  123 
Pound,  Joseph  H.,  s8,  112 
Powell,  |ohn,  99 
Pratt  Institute,  16 
Prclog,  Vladimir,  214 
Premedical  studies,  148 
President,  16-20,  21,  119,  141,  146, 
197 

house  of,  29,  140,  142,  153,  168 

See  also  Edgar  Odell  Lovett; 
William  Vermillion  Houston; 
Kenneth  Sanborn  Pitzer 
Princeton  University,  21,  so,  178 
Professional  schools,  200 
Promotions,  faculty,  61,  96,  122,  139 
Provost,  171 
Psychology 

classes  in,  124-25 

department  of,  95 
Publications,  student,  121,  17s,  193 

See  also  Campanile:  The  Rice 
Owl:  Thresher. 

R  Association,  131,  136 

RI,  162 

ROTC.  See  Reserve  Officers' 

Training  Corps 
Rabson,  Thomas,  204 


Racial  discrimination,  15,  201,  202 

Rally  Club,  112,  163 

Raphael,  Emanuel,  11,  14,  16,  19,  119 

Rath,  R.  lohn,  204 

Rather,  J.  T,  Ir.,  177 

Ravel,  Maurice,  100 

Ray  Robert  H.,  169 

Rayzor  Hall,  205,  216 

Rayzor,  J.  Newton,  136,  169,  170, 

173,  175,  179,  180,  197,  200,  204, 

205 
Read,  Clark  P.,  149,  202 
Reagan,  Taylor  M.,  74,  7S,  79 
Red,  Ed,  19  s 
Red,  George,  197 
Red,  Hattie  Lei,  49 
"Red  scare,"  the,  84 
Reed  Roller  Bit  Company,  stock  in, 

122 
Registrar,  83,  171 
Reid,  John  I.,  214 
Reid,  Kit,  129,  157 
Reid's  Night  (Knight)  Owls,  129 
Reinke,  Edwm  E.,  58 
Religion,  place  of  in  university,  84 

See  also  Nonsectarianism 
Research  Days,  170 
Research  Sponsors,  170 
Reserve  Officers'  Training  Corps,  71, 

74,  78,  81,  82,  134,  135,  165 
Residence  halls,  28-29,  36,  50,  S3, 
72,  115,  121,  135,  140,  153,  173/ 
178,  200 

women's,  28,  181-82 

See  also  Colleges  and  names  of 
individual  residence  halls  and 
colleges 
Reynolds,  F.  Fisher,  136 
Rice  Alumni  News.  129 
Rice  Associates,  215,  216.  See  also 

Rice  Institute  Associates 
Rice,  Benjamin  Botts,  15,  119,  125, 

139,  141,  143 
Rice,  Elizabeth  Baldwin,  11,  12 
Rice  Engineering  Show,  no- 1 1 
Rice  Engineophyte  Society,  127 
Rice,  Frederick  Allyn,  11,  is,  60 
Rice  Institute  Associates,  170 
Rice  Institute  (name),  69.  See  also 


"Institute" 
Rice  Institute  Pamphlet,  5,  66,  69, 

102.  See  also  Rice  University 

Studies 
Rice  Institute  Research  Sponsors, 

170 
Rice,  Margaret  Bremond,  1 1 
Rice  Memorial  Student  Center, 

174-77,  209,  216 
"Rice  myth,"  the,  207-8 
Rice  Owl.  The,  no,  129 
Rice  Progressive  Party,  133 
Rice  Stadium,  156.  See  also  Stadium 
Rice,  William  Marsh,  5,  n,  12-14, 
15,  22,  125,  136,  201 

monument  to,  216        ii-*'    ~  •^  ' 
Rice,  William  MarshTlr.,  is,  16,  19, 

1 19,  122,  125,  136,  138 
Rice  University  (name),  69,  197 
Rice  University  Chorus,  216 
Rice  University  Studies,  66 
Riceoman  Literary  and  Debating 

Society,  SI,  115 
"Rice's  Honor"  (song),  no,  210 
Richards,  Charles  R.,  17,  18 
Richardson,  Alfred  S.,  n,  is 
Richter,  George  Holmes,  123,  13s, 

141,  146,  170,  173,  191,  196,  203 
Rimlinger,  Gaston,  204 
Rincon  oil  field,  137,  140,  143,  is3, 

200 
Rincon  Pipe  Line  Company,  137 
Risser,  J.  R.,  149 
Rockwell,  lames  W.,  12s 
Rockwell  lectureship,  125 
Rodgers,  lack,  167 
Roe,  Herbert  N.,  70 
Rohrschach,  Harold,  172 
Rondelet,  162,  185,  209 
Roosevelt,  Franklin  D.,  122 
la  Rose,  Pierre  de  Chaignon,  37 
Rote,  Tobin,  167,  195 
Rothgeb,  Claude,  106 
Russ,  Carl,  167 
Russell,  Henry  N.,  99 
Russian  civil  war,  84 
Ryan,  Frank,  19s 
Ryon  Laboratory,  205 
Ryon,  Lewis  B.,  141,  146,  205 


248 


Index 


9^. 


V" 


Saints,  patron,  ^7,  42 
Sakowitz,  Simon,  loS 
Salaries 

deans',  85 

faculty,  4S,  94,  yi,  104,  io«,  120, 
122,  124,  1^1,  Mg,  140,  168,  202, 
203 
■  football  coach's,  los 

presidents',  17,  19,  4S,  142 
Sallyport,  28,  51,  88,  177 
Sallyport  (magazine),  196,  iy7 
"Sallyport  100,"  50 
Sammy  the  Owl,  S3,  S^i,  112,  158, 

187 
Sammy's  (snack  bar),  17s 
Sanders,  I'aul,  1 3 1 
Sarah  Lane  Literary  Society,  163 
Sass,  Ronald,  172 
Savage,  Catherine  Hill,  203 
Scholarships,  81,  105,  iis,  n^\  140, 

146,  168,  170,  173,  191,  201 
Schuhmacher,  lohn,  156 
Schunck,  Fritz,  195 
Schwinger,  Gene,  19  s 
Science 

emphasis  on,  18,  23,  2S,  fn,  218 

graduate  programs  in,  200 

majors  in,  148 
Science-engineering,  147,  148,  I'^o 

women  in,  206 
Scott,  Harry  Alexander,  108 
Scott,  James  H.,  127 
Scott,  limmie,  129 
Scott,  John  T.,  8s,  119,  M>^,  n9,  141, 

Seaborg,  Glenn  T,  215 

Seaman,  Ed,  1 31 

Scars,  Peter  Gray,  66,  no 

Self -Study.  206,  208 

Semicentennial,  212-18 

Senior  Dance,  209 

Senior  Follies,  162 

Shannon,  Claude  E.,  21s 

Shannon,  loscph  R.,  in, 

Sharp,  Estellc  B.,  81 

Sharp  Lectureship  in  Civics  and 

Philanthrophy  81,  9s,  99 
Sharrar,  Lee  M.,  122 
Shell  Oil,  170 
Shclton,  Fred,  9  s 


Shepherd  School  ot  Music,  173 

Shield,  otfieial,  -^7 

Shipley,  Arthur,  yg 

Sidis,  William  ].,  s« 

Simpson,  John  1^.,  21 3 

Sims,  lames  R.,  149,  171,  184,  iot, 

Site,  selection  of,  18,  26 

Slater,  lean  Miriam,  128 

Slater,  |ohn  C,  141 

Slaughter,  |ohn  W.,  gs,  124 

Slime  Ball,  116 

Slime  Parade,  116,  127,  iS9,  164,  187 

"Slimes"  (name),  sv  Sec  also  Hazing 

Smiley,  William,  106 

Smith,  Dan,  |r.,  106 

Social  sciences,  204 

Song  Fcst,  1 8  s 

Song,  official,  iio,  210 

Sophomore  Ball,  1 16 

Sororities,  prohibition  against,  si, 

IIS,  163 
South  Hall,  180.  See  also  Residence 

halls;  Will  Rice  College 
South,  Ira,  71 
Southern  Association  of  Colleges  and 

Secondary  Schools,  admission  into, 

67 
Southwest  Conference,  103,  los, 

106,  107,  130,  1 6s,  igs,  202,  206 
Space  sciences,  department  of,  204 
Spence,  Dale,  19  s 
Sports.  See  Athletics  and  names  of 

individual  athletic  activities 
Squire,  Charles  F.,  149 
Stadium,  29,  12s,  131-U,  iS3,  167. 

See  also  Rice  Stadium 
Stancliff,  Fred,  106 
Standish,  William  M.,  S2 
Stanford  University,  gs 
Staub  and  Rather,  141,  iS3 
Steen,  Frank,  130 
Stein,  Gertrude,  statue  of,  193 
Stratford,  Sara,  so,  60,  122 
Student  advisory  system,  203 
Student  Association,  77,  80,  1 14, 

US,  121,  164,  184,  187 
Student  center,  173.  See  also  Rice 

Memorial  Student  Center 
Student  Council,  82,  iis,  116,  164, 

179,   183,   186 


Student  Senate,  184 
Students 

cynicism  of,  iyo-93 

graduate,  93,  159,  160,  200 

home  towns  of,  48 

honors,  61-62 

number  of,  121 

out-of-state,  92,  207 

out-of-town,  121,  189 

Texas  resident,  92 

transfer,  90,  93 
Students'  Army  Training  Corps, 

81-82,  83 
Studies  in  English  Literature.  172 
Stussi,  Fritz,  214 
Sugar  Bowl,  194 
Suman,  Don,  19  s 
Superior  Oil,  170 
Sylvester,  Leche,  i  30 
Szent-Gyorgyi,  Albert,  214 

Taft,  William  Howard,  99 

Talmage,  Roy  B.,  149,  183,  197 

Tape.  7S-77,  82,  83 

Tau  Beta  Pi,  127 

Taylor,  Henry  Osborn,  118 

Technical  school,  idea  of,  24 

Ten  Year  Plan,  203 

Tennis  Club,  S2 

Tennis,  varsity,  167 

Tenure  policy  61,  123-24,  203,  204 

Texas  Department  of  Education,  67 

Thomas,  I.  D.,  171,  123 

Thomson,  Sir  George  P.,  214 

Thresher.  32,  74,  7 S.  77,  80,  82,  98, 
104,  los,  no,  112,  IIS,  11'^.  121, 
126,  129,  132,  134,  IS7,  is8,  161, 
163,  164,  i8s,  186,  197,  207,  208 

Thucydides,  42 

Tidden,  lohn  Clark,  96 

Tillett,  Henry  A.,  no,  in 

Todd,  Anderson,  172 

"Toonerville  trolley,"  49 

Torrens,  Mary  lane,  122 

Town  and  Country  Apartments,  181 

Toynbec,  Arnold,  213,  216 

Track,  varsity,  36,  106,  167 

Traditions,  student,  108,  116,  IS7 

Traffic,  regulation  of,  ni-12,  177 

Trustee  Distinguished  Professor, 
position  of,  204 


Index 


249 


Trustee  emeritus,  position  of,  143 
Trustees.  Set'  Board  of  Trustees 
Tsanoff,  Radoslav  Andrea,  58,  96,  98, 

108,  125,  204,  213,  217 
Tuition,  92,  95,  121,  122,  135,  191, 

200,  201,  202 
Turner,  Richard  B.,  172 
Turpin,  lack,  167 

Uhrig,  L.  v.,  124 

Ulricfi,  Floyd  E.,  123 

"Uncle  [upe,"  i  s  3 

Underwood,  |ohn,  103 

Union  Carbide,  170 

Universe  (sculpturel,  173 

"University"  (term),  19s,  196,  218 

See  also  Rice  University 
University  Extension  Lectures, 

65-66,  83 
University,  idea  of,  18,  24-25.  See 

also  "University" 

V-12  students,  134,  13s,  165 
Valley  Pipe  Line  Company,  137 
Van  Dyke,  Henry,  5,22 
Van  de  Graaff  accelerator.  See 

Accelerator 
Vandiver,  Frank,  172 
Varsity  sports.  See  Athletics  and 

names  of  individual  athletic 

activities 
Veterans  of  Future  Wars,  132 
Viner,  lacob,  214 
Virginia  Cleveland  Literary  Society 

163 


Walker,  Malcolm,  195 

Wallace,  Bill,  130 

Wann,  Trenton,  161 

Watkin,  William  Ward,  45,  64,  100, 

103,  105,  106,  108,  132,  141,  145, 

171,  217 
Watson,  Joe,  167 
Watts,  Grace  Leake,  216 
Weber,  Charles  F.,  26 
Wecter,  Dixon,  144 
Weems,  F.  Carrington,  22 
Weiser,  Harry  B.,  58,  96,  122,  124, 

127,   129,    132,   145,   170,  2X7 

West  Hall,  36,  60,  180,  183.  See  also 

Hanszen  College 
Whiting,  George,  95 
Whittington,  Harmon,  169,  170 
Wierum,  Frederic,  204 
Wiess  College,  183,  187.  See  also 

Wiess  Hall 
Wiess  Hall,  153,  178,  180.  See  also 

Wiess  College 
Wiess,  Harry  C,  108,  137,  138,  139, 
140,  142,  143,  144,  I  S3,  168,  169, 
173 

endowed  chair  in  memory  of,  171 
Wiess,  Mrs.  Harry  C.  See  Olga  Keith 

Wiess 
Wiess,  Olga  Keith,  169,  171 
Wilford,  I.M.,  136 
Wilhoit,  lames,  172,  204 
Will,  forged,  13 
Will  Rice  College,  183,  187.  See  also 

Residence  halls;  South  Hall 


Williams,  George  G.,  95,  161 
Williams,  lames  "Froggy,"  167 
Williams,  Robert  P.,  no 
Wilson,  Harold  A.,  44,  48,  S7,  61,  64, 

70,  94,  96,  98,  104,  108,  113,  120, 

123,  ISO,  213,  217 
Wilson,  Woodrow,  17,  18,  19,  22,  S7, 

70,  178 
Wischmeyer,  Carl  R.,  123,  183 
Wolcott,  Fred,  131,  1A7 
Women 

number  of,  90,  i  39 

position  of,  47,  49-50,^v  n^ 

out-of-town,  206-7 
Women's  Hall  Committee,  179 
Women's  Council,  81,  127,  163 
Woods,  Roberta,  127 
World  War  I,  69,  70,  82,  83 
World  War  II,  127,  132,  134,  141,  iS7, 

IS 9,  19s,  218 
Wortham,  Gus  S.,  143,  169 
Wyatt,  Edwin,  161 

Yagi,  Sakae,  213 

Yankee  Stadium,  200 

Yell  leaders.  See  Cheerleaders 

Yerges,  Howard  F.,  103 

Young  Men's  Christian  Association, 

SI,  84,  IIS 
Young  Women's  Christian 

Association,  51,  84,  iis 

Zindler,  Marvin,  194